


Heritage

by CordeliaKRose



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, College AU, F/M, Gen, M/M, Malec, Sizzy - Freeform, Strong!Independent!Clary, clace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaKRose/pseuds/CordeliaKRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary never goes to Pandemonium and continues through high school and college in ignorance. Her senior year at Columbia though, she stumbles ungracefully into the Shadowhunter world. Featuring: Clary with a backbone. AU. Slow burn Clary/Jace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.
> 
> Please give advice/criticism/feedback for what you like/didn't like/where you would like to see the story go!

It had only been two days and Clary was already growing restless. Today was Saturday. Her exams had ended on Thursday night and she had come home to Brooklyn to spend some holiday time with her mother.

Clary had had visions of gingerbread houses and tree decorating. Instead, she remembered how suffocating and overbearing her mother got, especially during the holidays.

As much as she loved her mother, Clary knew that Jocelyn didn't really understand college. Clary was, after all, a first generation college student. It was probably what had given her a leg up over the other applicants while applying to Columbia four years ago.

Because, while Clary did well enough in her classes, she still wasn't sure how she had been lucky enough to gain admission along with Simon to his dream school.

Of course, while Simon was studying computer science at the engineering school, Clary had ended up majoring in Art History after trying on practically every other humanities major (and a couple sciences!) before returning to her one true love.

Despite surviving on her own for three and a half years at college, feeding and clothing herself like every other college student, she seemed to be permanently 15 years old in her mother's eyes.

Clary stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and quickly finished painting black cat eyes onto her upper eyelids with two practiced swishes.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" Jocelyn called from the kitchen.

Clary sighed and called back, "Don't worry Mom, I didn't."

As great as it was to be home, and especially to have Luke cook pancakes for breakfast, Clary was going a little stir crazy. She pulled on her pea coat, bracing herself for the bitter cold outside and headed for the door.

"Sick of us already?" Jocelyn asked. Her tone was light, but her eyes were sad and for a minute Clary felt a twinge of guilt.

"Don't be ridiculous Mom," she replied, "I just forgot to return this book to the library and they fine you like crazy if you go over the due date."

Clary held up the offending volume to corroborate her story. It was a blue hardback with gold writing on the spine: To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.

She shoved the book back into her bag and stepped out into the hallway, deciding just to stay on campus for an hour, maybe two.

After all, she had her phone with her, and her Mom could always text if she needed her back at home for any reason.

She walked quickly to the closest Subway stop, eager to escape the December cold. As she sat on the train, Clary thought about how winter was, in some ways, the best season in New York: the Christmas decorations, fewer tourists, and not to mention fewer bugs from the freezing weather.

As her train pulled up to the 14th Street Station, Clary stepped out onto the platform and walked towards the tracks for the uptown express lines, transferring to the 2 train. The moment that she stepped into the car though, she froze.

Clary knew somewhere in the logical part of her brain that she should switch cars, that there was a danger here that she should flee from.

Instead she was frozen, staring at a couple sitting across from her covered in blood. Where they weren't covered in gore, they were covered in tattoos, leather, and knives.

Which first of all, was illegal, and second of all was pretty strange even for New York.

Clary scanned the rest of the car to see if anyone else had the same reaction as her, but she was surrounded by a sea of blank faces. Well either they were wearing costumes and Clary was the only idiot who thought it was real or this was a bona fide instance of the Bystander Effect.

Because although the boy, blond hair stained pink with blood, seemed to be just fine, the girl seemed to be struggling to stay awake.

Clary pushed slightly through the throng of people at the next stop to get closer and hear what was going on.

"No, Jace, stop I just want to go home" the girl said, weakly pushing his knife-wielding hand away. Clary felt her rate pick up.

"Isabelle, I've never seen a demon like that before and whatever" his voice was drowned out by the opening and closing doors and then he said, "we have to cut it out."

His long fingers ran over the short, serrated knife in his hand, and the girl pulled away from him.

Clary looked to see if anyone else was paying attention or if the sole responsibility lay on her. No one else seemed to have noticed, or be willing to admit that they had noticed, the bizarre exchange going on right next to them.

Obviously at least one half of this couple was insane. A demon? Was this like a code for drugs? A drug deal gone bad?

The only acceptable explanation was some kind of convention, Clary decided. But the drugs explanation was more likely. Clary continued to keep an eye on them. The boy was beautiful and it made her think unwillingly of a definition for sociopaths she had read once in school:

"Sociopaths are often charming, capable of imitating the full breadth of human emotion without the ability to feel it. Most have tendencies towards manipulation, even feigning vulnerability to lure their victims in. A notable case was Ted Bundy who faked an injury and used his good looks to bait the women he would later rape and kill."

Clary reasoned through her predicament uneasily: call the police, notify an MTA official, intervene? The train was quickly pulling up to her stop and she resolved to call the police to notify them of suspicious activity as soon as she got aboveground.

Clary stepped out of the open doors into the 96th street station, intending to transfer to the local train when she noticed the odd couple from the car had exited alongside her.

The girl was being half-dragged up the stairs by the boy—no not a boy, a man, she corrected herself, he had to be at least in his mid-20s.

Clary pulled out her phone to check for a signal only to see that it had died. Swearing at herself and her lack of self-preservation, Clary followed the couple at distance; she hung back half a block as they walked East.

Clary hesitated again as they entered the park, chastising herself for watching so many episodes of Law & Order: SVU. This was the moment, she realized, when the audience screams not to follow, how stupid was she really?

But there was no one else around and her phone was dead and if that girl died it was her fault.

"Fuck it," Clary muttered to herself, "in for a penny, in for a pound" and she bounded after the pair into the park.

Through the park and further East, the man had his left arm around her waist and the other pulling her arm over his shoulder, still-half dragging her even as she struggled to walk on her own.

Finally by York Avenue the pair pulled off the sidewalk and Clary sped up to see where they were going. He was heaving her up the stairs to some abandoned building when the girl suddenly collapsed.

Finally deciding that she was definitely witnessing the prelude to some bizarre murder, cult, date-rape, and overall Bad Thing, Clary ran towards the steps. Without thinking she shouted out "Hey!" hoping to spook the man, but he didn't even look up.

She reached for his shoulder to get his attention when he suddenly turned around and grabbed her wrist bringing it down in between them. Clary snatched her hand back and looked defiantly up into his eyes.

"She needs medical attention," she declared resolutely.

"I know," he responded turning back to the girl, "that's why I brought her here." he continued to pull the unconscious girl up the stairs. Clary looked despondently up at the abandoned lot at the top of the stairs, further dismayed by his actions.

"No," Clary jogged around to stand in between him and the girl, shoving at his shoulders, "She needs to go to a hospital. If you let me call a cab and take her there, I won't even call the police."

"The police? What? Look, I'm sorry, but I really don't have the time for this." His face was completely blank as he said this and Clary decided that he was completely delusional, unaware of the fact that he was even doing anything wrong.

And then all of a sudden he was reaching towards Clary. She flinched back, but not fast enough, as his hand closed behind her neck pinching the nerve endings and then nothing.

o0o

Jace straightened up as the stranger fell to the ground. He picked Isabelle up bridal style and carried her into the Institute, handing her off to Alec who had been anxiously awaiting their return.

"Who's that?" Alec asked when Clary's body came into view through the doorway where she lay sprawled on the steps.

"No time," Jace answered, "Isabelle needs immediate attention, demon ichor and some kind of shrapnel embedded into her wounds."

Alec hurried off and Jace turned back to the steps heaving his mystery girl up to the threshold. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled her through.

Huh, he thought, as the Institute accepted her, not a downworlder then and definitely not a mundane since she could see him. And that only left one possibility: Shadowhunter.

He brought her to the infirmary and laid her on the bed next to Isabelle.

Alec, having administered medicine to Isabelle and cleaned her wounds, came over to look at their new guest.

"So how did you leave with one conscious girl and come back with two unconscious ones?" Alec asked.

"I'm not really sure to be honest. Miss Upright Citizen here followed us here all the way from the Subway station; I think she thought I attacked Iz or something."

Jace pulled a chair up quietly sitting in front of his new charge.

"Well who is she?" Alec asked again.

"I don't know, but I'd like to find out," Jace replied as he opened her bag and began rifling through her bag.

"A wallet, excellent."

"What? You knocked her out and now you're going to steal from her body?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jace mumbled as he went through her different cards "I'm looking for . . . this!" he held up a photo ID, "Clary Fray, student at Columbia University and owner of not one, not two, but three Joe's Coffee punch cards!"

"Very impressive," Alex deadpanned, "but how can she see us?"

"Well, I've never heard the name 'Fray' before have you?" Alec shook his head "And she definitely had no idea who we were. My best guess is that her Shadow Hunter great-great-great grandfather screwed the mundane milk maid or something and now we have our ignorant, but morally stout, Fray over here whose single drop of Shadowhunter blood allows her to see us." Jace responded, gesturing to Clary's limp body.

He put the ID back in the wallet and threw it back into the bag.

"A pretty sound theory."

Jace yawned, "Yeah it doesn't matter anyways though, she can't be here when she wakes up."

"What? What do you mean she can't be here?" Alec exclaimed, "You're going to dump the girl you knocked up back onto the street? Because she was looking out for my sister, our sister? Why did you even bother bringing her inside if you were just going to throw her out again?"

"Well," Jace sat back "when you put it like that—"

Jace broke off when he noticed that the girl in question had begun to stir. The parabatai looked at each other and then at the girl as she suddenly gasped and opened her startlingly green eyes.

END CHAPTER ONE


	2. Chapter 2

Clary bolted upright, blinking back the pain of the too-white bright light around her. She was in a clean smelling room that reminded her of dish soap and the make-shift hospital wings in World War II movies.

The blond man from before, hair still stained pink with blood was staring at her. To Clary's left lay his first victim, Isabelle she remembered him calling her.

She was unnaturally still and her sheets were stained with blood.

Clary's panicked eyes shifted quickly between her and the two strange men at the foot of her bed.

The second man had short, black hair and sharp blue eyes. He noticed her looking at Isabelle worriedly.

"Don't worry about her, she's in a magically sustained stasis to prevent her from moving and further injuring herself."

Definitely a collective delusion Clary thought.

"By the way, my name is Alec Lightwood," he offered sticking out his right arm and elbowing blondie with his left.

"And I'm Jace Wayland," blondie reluctantly held out his right hand.

"Clary Fray," she returned, shaking both of their hands firmly and feeling that they were oddly polite for serial killers.

Alec sat down next to the bed and Clary scrambled backwards pushing herself up against the headboard in a subconscious effort to make space in between herself and her captors.

Jace snorted at her reaction, but was quickly silenced by a glare from Alec. Alec held up his hands slowly as if trying to calm a wild animal.

"Look, we're not going to hurt you," Clary rolled her eyes at that, rubbing the sore back of her neck "right sorry about that" he gestured ambiguously towards Clary.

"Jace panicked when he thought that he wouldn't be able to get my sister, Isabelle, to help quickly enough. Although you misunderstood the situation I appreciate that you tried to look out for her. I wanted to thank you for that. So, thanks."

"Yeah, no problem" Clary answered, "actually there is just one problem: Where am I? Who are you? And why do you have so many knives? And is 'demons' some kind of drug code language? And if so are you going to keep me hostage in your gothic stronghold until I prove my loyalty or kill me anyways because I swear I don't even know any cops and am terrible at remembering faces so really it would just be easier, for all of us I mean, if you just let me go."

Clary knew she was rambling, but she was a nervous rambler and couldn't stop even if she tried.

Jace quirked an eyebrow and smirked, "What is it with you and cops? We're really not afraid of them and just so you know, threatening to call the cops is really not as terrifying as you seem to think it is. And you are free to go at any time, but to be honest it's probably in your best interest if you stayed."

I should just go, Clary thought to herself, grab my stuff and run. Instead, she took the bait.

"And why's that?"

"Well" Jace replied his golden eyes gleaming as he walked towards the bed, "that is because there's something you don't know about yourself. Something that's in your blood."

Clary narrowed her eyes at Jace.

"Did you test your drugs on me?" she asked, feeling a little bit of fear, and no small amount of righteous anger.

Jace laughed again, "Well, you see Clary—"

"No" Alec interrupted him, "stop messing with her Jace. Clary," he turned to face her, "Jace didn't mean physically in your blood, he means ancestrally, genetically. You're like us. A Shadowhunter."

"What the Hell is a Shadow Hunter?"

Alec sighed through his nose, "You really don't know, do you? In a word, we are guardians: elite warriors who protect the mundane world that is, humans, from well demons essentially."

Again with the demon stuff, these guys were clearly insane.

This time, Clary did come to her senses. Swinging her legs over the bed and her bag over her shoulder she stood up and got ready to leave.

"Ok well, as much fun as this has been, I really have to go now. Thanks for the hospitality!" she called as she walked through the door, only to realize she had no idea how to leave.

"Jace, please show Clary the way out," Alec asked. Jace looked conflicted but Alec insisted, "It's the least you can do after knocking her out . . ."

Jace stepped closer to Alec, whispering furiously in his ear. The two exchanged a few more words before Jace nodded firmly, walked up to Clary, and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Come on," he grunted, as he guided her down the paneled hardwood hallway.

In spite of herself, Clary was in awe of the architectural beauty and her hands itched to draw the detailed spandrels and curling staircases.

In a matter of several tense minutes, the two of them were outside the threshold and back in the real world.

"Look" Jace said, turning to face Clary directly. She crossed her arms subconsciously and he grabbed both of her upper arms, forcing her to look at him. Clary wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was searching her face and didn't seem satisfied.

"I can't force you to believe anything you don't want to believe, but you know as well as I do that we just came out of a perfectly well-preserved building, but I bet when you first saw this place you thought it was a dilapidated ruin. Before you leave here, look at the façade, really look, scrape away the surface and then tell me you don't believe in magic or in anything beyond the mundane world."

And with that, he was gone. He spun on his heels and suddenly the huge, ornate doors were closed. Wait. Huge ornate doors.

Clary looked up and around the doors, stepping back down the stairs as she did so and, like a black and white movie coming to color, like reverse decay moving fluidly outwards from the point directly in front of her, the entire building blossomed into a great monument to gothic architecture.

Numbly, Clary walked to the curb, hailed a cab and headed back home.

Forty minutes later and $35.64 poorer, Clary crashed into her childhood bedroom throwing her bag onto the floor and finally plugging her dead phone into the wall.

Clary lay on the bed for a few minutes before getting restless and getting up to take a shower. Blessedly, she had not run into her mother when she got home. She knew that somehow, be it mother's intuition or the strange bruise on her neck, her mother would definitely know that something was up.

Clary scrubbed all the grime and sweat off of her body, the normalcy of a shower calming her down when no knife wielding blondes banged down her door while she was shampooing her hair.

Now, away from the city and in the familiar comfort of her old apartment, the day's events almost felt like a bad dream.

Clary toweled off her hair and rubbed some heavy duty concealer over her neck-bruise before pulling on a ratty old t shirt and falling into bed.

When Clary woke up again, it was already dark out. Clary yawned and picked up her phone from the floor next to her bed.

She had 5 missed messages. Two from her mother asking where she was and when she was coming home, pushing down a twinge of guilt, she scrolled through her other messages; the next was from Simon complaining about studying. The fourth was from a roommate asking if she was gone for good for the semester. Clary rolled her eyes and scrolled to the next message.

Number: Unknown  
Clary, whether you believe us or not, you are in danger. Our kind always are. Meet me tomorrow, 4:30 PM.

It gave the address of a small coffee shop in SoHo that Clary had been to before was signed simply "J."

Clary shivered.

It was so much easier to pretend that nothing had happened and that it was all a bad dream without tangible evidence of it sitting heavy in her hand. Clary closed the text and set her phone face down on the counter.

Was it a threat or a warning? And how had he even gotten her number? She felt completely vulnerable. Again, she wanted to go to the cops, show them the message, have some kind of leverage when she showed up tomorrow. If she showed up tomorrow.

Her phone buzzed as if in response to her thoughts.

Number: Unknown  
If you don't come to me, then I will have to come to you. And I don't think you would like that.

They were definitely going for more of a threatening angle, then.

Clary turned her phone off, her hand shaking as she set it down. That settled it, there was no way she was dragging her mother or Luke into whatever she had gotten herself into this time. She turned on all the lights in her room and headed into the kitchen.

There was a note stuck to the refrigerator "Saw that you were sleeping, getting Chinese with Luke xx."

A sharp stab of disappointment and fear ran through Clary. She really didn't want to be home alone right now. Clary took the note down and continued to walk through the apartment turning on all the lights and dead bolting the door.

Just as she was about to head back to her room, the door handle began to turn.

Grabbing a long knife from the kitchen, Clary moved behind the door.

"Clary?" a voice called out.

"Yeah?" Clary shakily responded

"It's me, sweet pea, can you please unlock the door so that I can bring you delicious noodles and sesame chicken?"

"One second!" Clary responded, hastily putting back the knife and checking the peep-hole to be sure that it was, in fact her mother on the other side of the door.

Feeling relieved, Clary opened the door for her mother and Luke, helping them with the bags.

"Why didn't you just get delivery?" Clary asked.

"Oh you know," her mother responded, "I actually quite like getting out from time to time, despite my reputation as a hermit, I do occasionally like to get out into the real world."

Clary's anxiety melted away as she smiled at her mother.

"Oh really?" Clary asked "could've fooled me. . ."

Jocelyn slapped her upside the head as Luke laughed and the three of them sat down for dinner.

Clary had a hard time falling asleep after dinner and woke up several times during the night finally texting back to the unknown number. "4:30 not good, meet me as early as you can this morning." Immediately her phone buzzed back, "9:30 AM, same place" and that was that.

She checked the time, her phone glared back at her "4:37 AM," just under 5 hours still she saw Jace again. She felt an odd mix of trepidation and excitement. Setting her alarm, Clary turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but found that it wouldn't come. Loathe to waste time, Clary powered up her laptop to prepare herself in whatever ways she could.

At precisely 9:25 AM, Clary walked into the designated café. Of course, Jace was already there reading a newspaper and drinking what looked like an espresso. He was facing away from the door and his hair was no longer tinged pink with blood, but his profile was still recognizable and she walked towards him.

Clary sat down across from him and ordered a black coffee when the waitress approached her.

"So. . ." she started, not really sure what to say.

"So . . ." he parroted, looking infuriatingly charming as he smiled and quirked an eyebrow.

Clary felt herself beginning to get annoyed and scowled at him, but he remained seemingly unaware of her impatience, a look of pure innocence on his face.

"So you're the one who summoned me here! What did you want?"

"Oh 'summoned' good word choice Fray, you've already got the lingo down, you'll fit into our world perfectly."

Clary grabbed her coat. "I knew coming here was a mistake," she mumbled, "If you're just going to waste my time and make fun of me, I'm leaving."

"Wait," Jace grabbed her arm and she started. Reluctantly he removed the offending appendage "I'm sorry, I'll be serious, I promise."

He looked up at her with those ridiculous puppy eyes and Clary felt her resolve weaken.

"Fine." She sat back down, "You've got 10 minutes, go." She hit the timer on her phone and showed him as it started counting down from 9:59.

"Alright, alright," he rummaged through a small black bag that he had brought, pulling out a wooden box, about the size of a college-ruled notebook but deep enough to hold three or four hardcover novels,

"Isabelle made you a sort of Shadow Hunters Starter-Box. As a thank you for trying to save her from me even though, really, I was the one saving her. She's alright if you were wondering, she woke up last night feeling right as rain."

"Right." Clary stared at the box in between them which had no visible opening.

"Oh yeah you have to open by pressing here, here and . . . here" he pressed down on three different knobs woven into the intricate pattern carved along the border of the box and the lid popped open.

"This" he pointed at a pen "is a stele, it draws" he pointed at his tattoos "runes which give us special powers, all of these runes are outlined in this book" he pointed to the book on top "and all the evil creatures we fight are outlined in that book" he pointed to the book below.

"Normally our education begins as children, but obviously we can't change that you are an adult and you do need to be learn about these things because, like it or not, you are genetically hardwired to fight like us.

"Not learning these skills would be like owning and carrying around a military grade sub-machine gun without really knowing how to use it or what the ramifications of its use would be.

"Additionally, I would really prefer it if you came and learned these things from us uptown at the Institute, but Hodge, he's kind of like our director, dean of students, whatever, says that you'll probably need more time to develop a healthy sense of trust and understanding with us after your unfortunate introduction yesterday.

"Then again," he leaned back in his chair, pushing onto the back two legs and folding his arms behind his head, "you're an Ivy League girl, I'm sure you're plenty smart enough to figure it out on your own."

Clary looked down at the timer on her phone and then held it up to show Jace.

"Wow" she responded "all that information and you've still got 3 minutes left. Oh well, like they always say, no one will be disappointed if your lecture ends early. And it's woman. Not girl."

"Sorry?"

"Well you've been condescending to me all morning, so I thought I'd give you an easy place to start: I'm a college woman, not a girl and I would appreciate it if you treated me like an adult."

He stared at her blankly.

"So," she settled her elbows on the table in front of her: "what's your full name, your age, and your place of birth?"

Jace looked confused, but quickly recovered,

"Well, if I'd known this was a first date, I would've dressed more to the occasion." He rattled off, tugging slightly at the worn lapels of his leather jacket.

For this first time since she sat down, Clary looked at him, really looked at him.

It was around 10 AM and that harsh morning light that she hated was hitting him in all the wrong places, but his face seemed to cut through the light, casting geometric shadows and emphasizing his sharp bones. He would make a good portrait subject, she realized. He even had that kind of witty personality that could keep an artist entertained for the long hours spent sitting for the portrait before the age of cameras. The kind she had read about in historical books for school.

Beautiful and charming and not at all forthcoming. Clary sighed.

"Well it's only fair, since you seem to know so much about me," she deepened her voice to imitate his "It's in your blood Clary', I mean who says stuff like that?"

"My name," he began with a flourish, "is Jace Wayland as I told you last night and I was born on February 16, 1991 right here in New York, New York."

Clary raised a single eyebrow.

"Right. . ." she drawled, "well the great thing about being an 'Ivy League girl' is that I have access to some of the world's largest online databases and there have been no Jace Waylands or Alec Lightwoods born in the past 34 years in New York, New York, so if you really want to engender and foster this sense of trust that you were talking about before, maybe you should try again."

"My lady is a formidable sleuth, but regardless of what my present to you this morning may suggest," he gestured to the two books in the wooden box still on the table between them, "you can't learn everything from books."

"Nice try to change the subject, but you still didn't answer my question and you can learn pretty much everything from books. And a database is not a book." She took a deep breath, "Since your cult—

"We are not a cult, Clary" he interrupted, showing a bit of aggravation for the first time the morning.

"Since your cult," she continued, "fights against demons, I figured that must mean that you had a biblical name. First name most likely John or James and second name Christian, Christopher, Cain, for all I know Jace is a nickname for 'Jesus Christ' I mean that would explain wanting to be called by a nickname, it's kind of a conspicuous name, you know?"

"My parents were not that cruel. My name is Jonathon Christopher and, as I said before, you are quite the sleuth aren't you?" He glanced at his watch, "but I'm afraid that's all we have time for today, please be sure to read those two books, I'll give you three days to peruse them, and after that we'll be in touch. Oh and be careful with that stele if you decide to Mark yourself, some of the runes are permanent, but I'm sure your research already told you that Miss Fray."

With that he was gone and Clary no longer felt afraid, Jace was too annoying to be afraid of, too ridiculous and arrogant, like a character from a Victorian novel, self-absorbed to say the least. And 'we'll be in touch' who said things like that?

She rolled her eyes and ordered another coffee, deciding to do her 'homework' at the café, Jace had, at least, gotten them a good table. She quickly texted her mom where she was and that she would be here for a few hours.

The two books were old and leather bound. One, the one with the runes was unmarked; the second was apparently the Shadow Hunters Lexicon. Clary quickly opened the lexicon and began reading.

Despite Jace's generous allowance of three days, it only took Clary an hour and a half to read through the Lexicon. If she had learned anything in the past six semesters at Columbia, it was how to speed read. Since finishing the lexicon, she had begun practicing the runes with the stele in her sketchbook.

Aside from the physical transformation of the Institute, which she now knew was the reveal of a glamour, the only other thing about this whole ordeal that actually felt real were the runes, they flowed out of her hand as if the hand of God himself moved her pen.

In addition to the ease with which she felt she could draw the runes, Clary also felt as if she could read them, could sense the meaning before she read the English translation.

And, she couldn't help it; she rolled up her sleeve and drew a rune for strength on the inside of her forearm. According to the world this mark would be invisible to mundanes anyways and Clary had always been a little bit lacking in upper body strength. She felt that it would be the most obvious, most measurable rune that she could use.

She pulled her sleeve back down and packed her things, leaving a few bills on the table to cover her coffees and tip the waitress.

By the time Clary got home, her mother was in fact baking Christmas cookies although she seemed to be struggling a bit to do so.

"Clary!" she called as her daughter walked through the door, "come help me with these, I think I may have switched the powdered sugar and the granulated sugar by accident."

"One second Mom!" Clary responded, shoving the box under her bead and making sure her arm was different.

When Clary entered the room, her mother started and looked up.

"Clary, did something happen today?"

"What? What do you mean? I had coffee with a friend and did some reading, but I wouldn't exactly count that as eventful. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," her mother responded, "you seem different, I'm not sure how. And now you seem pretty jumpy too." Jocelyn mouth quirked up into a grin, "was it a boy friend that you had coffee with?"

"Mom," Clary groaned, "Not everything is about boys, but yes the friend that I had coffee with was biologically male."

Her mother cooed at her, "And is he cute?" she sing-songed.

"Actually," Clary turned to face her mother, licking cookie dough off of a spoon, "he's pretty gorgeous, like drop dead Armani model that he needs to hear that."

And that was that, they laughed and made cookies and Clary was glad to be home.

When she got in bed that night though, Clary couldn't help thinking that this sort of blissful normalcy couldn't last long. But she had two more days before her next meeting with Jace and she planned to prepare as much as possible before then.

As she pulled the covers over her torso, she caught a glimpse of the forgotten strength rune she had drawn on herself earlier, she hadn't gotten a chance yet to test it.

Clary looked around her room for a reasonable test. Just last August she had moved her bureau over six inches and it had been like moving a mountain, it was so heavy. Clary went over to see if it felt any easier with her new ink, grabbing purchase underneath the bureau Clary bent down and pushed. The bureau easily moved two feet away from her and she only just caught it before it fell over, unsettled by the recent movement.

Well, I suppose that settles that, she thought, resolving to spend the next two days picking out and drawing useful runes on herself. It certainly couldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please write a quick review, where would you like to see the story go? Did you catch any references?


	3. Chapter 3

Clary inhaled sharply through her nose as she carved a new rune into her skin, this one for agility. Clary had always been unrelentingly curious and the evidence of this curiosity now covered her body. Clary had tried to make the runes as small an inconspicuous as possible, laying them in a horizontal row in between her hip bones. Now she had runes for: strength, grace, silent movement, courage, speed, foresight, defense, and now agility.

Clary had never tried drugs, but she had read descriptions of drug addiction in textbooks and attended drug prevention workshops in high school.

She had never really understood the craving people described that came along with addiction, why couldn't they just say no? But with the runes, she finally felt what they meant. She wanted to cover her body in black ink, feel the power of the runes pulsing through her body.

She would have continued to draw even more but just as she finished the agility rune, her phone began buzzing. She picked up the phone to see who was calling her but the phone flashed back "Blocked Call."

"Seriously?" she muttered, hitting the ignore button, but her phone just started buzzing again. She pulled up her text message conversation from yesterday with Jace, also from an 'unknown number' and typed out an explanation.

"Like I said yesterday, it's not fair that you know everything about me and I know nothing about you. You can't just call me whenever you want without even giving me your real phone number."

The phone buzzed again, "Blocked Call" appeared in big, white letters and, again, Clary hit ignore.

Clary looked back down at her text message and her finger hovered over the send button, but she could already imagine his self-satisfied retort about her asking for his number, how he would be in touch or some equally unhelpful response and she deleted the draft.

As soon as she set down her phone on her armoire, though, it began buzzing again loud and obnoxious against the hardwood surface. Frustrated, Clary grabbed the phone and answered it,

"You know what? Something had better be seriously wrong; I thought you said three days before I had to see you again! You can't just expect me to be at your beck and call whenever you want!"

A beat of silence.

"Wow, sorry didn't realize this was such a bad time to call."

It was not the voice Clary had been expecting.

"Simon?" she asked, "Oh God, I am so, so sorry I didn't realize it was you." She pulled the phone away from her face and checked the Caller ID which read 'Simon Lewis.' "Did you just call me twice before from a blocked number?"

"Uh no, that must've been someone else. But I guess that explains why you were expecting this to be someone else. Want to explain the whole three days thing? Did you have another fight with your mom?" he asked.

"No, it's . . . I mean, I don't know Simon," she sighed, "it would be easier to explain in person. Are you around?"

"Yeah I'm still on campus, just called to let you know I just finished my last exam."

"Oh! Congratulations! How did it go?" she felt badly for raining on Simon's parade. He had probably called her happy and relieved and now he was confused and concerned.

"I don't know it's always hard to tell with compsci, but I'm done and didn't start crying during the test which is more than can be said for about 40% of the class so there's that. But yeah, why don't you come meet me? We can celebrate the end of our last fall semester and you can explain what's going on with you."

"OK I'll be uptown in thirty— meet at Joe's Coffee?"

"Yeah sure, I need to drop off my notes and stuff in my room anyways. I have to say though, you're making me a little nervous Clary, are you sure everything's alright?"

Clary felt a rush of affection for Simon, "Yeah Si, everything's fine. I can't wait to see you."

Laughter crackled through the line, "it's only been five days Clary."

Clary put on a ridiculous British accent, "I know darling," she drawled, "but it feels like an eternity."

"Indubitably." Simon responded in kind, making them both giggle before saying their goodbyes.

Still smiling, Clary pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, hopping to get them all the way up her legs. She slipped on a book on the floor though and flung her arms out to catch herself. She caught the edge of her comforter and pulled it down onto the floor with her.

So much for those grace and agility runes, she thought to herself, struggling to stand back up. As she did so, she noticed that her accident had also knocked over her wooden Shadowhunter box and she bent over to investigate it.

The bottom of the base seemed to have come apart and Clary realized how old the box must have been. She picked up the box and upon further investigation, though, she realized that her fall had actually revealed a false bottom. Clary dug her fingers into the new opening and pulled the bottom of the box further open to reveal a new compartment.

There were two things in the false bottom: a note and a bundle wrapped in simple brown paper tied up with white string. Clary was surprised to find the note addressed to her.

"Clary," it read "I know Jace wouldn't approve me giving this to you, since you're still untrained and all. But he always underestimates us womenfolk. Never forget: you don't need to be saved, you are the hero of your own story. Think of this is as a thank you for trying to help me yesterday even though you didn't know me and sorry that in the process you got knocked out by Jace. Fondly, your sister-in-arms."

"Sister-in-arms. . ." Clary repeated to herself, deciding that it must be from Isabelle. Jace had said before that she had put the package together herself as a 'beginner Shadowhunter kit' for Clary.

Gingerly, Clary unwrapped the package though she already had a vague idea of what it might be. When the package almost unfurled a second note fell out,

"P.S. her name is Seraphina."

Finally, the paper came away and in her hands lay a small, beautiful blade. "A Seraph Blade," Clary whispered to herself, recognizing it from the description in the Lexicon. Clary realized that she was holding the stuff Heaven was made of and felt her head swim a bit.

Still, it felt right in her hand, warm and heavy and reassuring. Clary smiled to herself and tucked the blade into her inner-coat pocket, feeling a bit more secure with a weapon of her own after spending the day yesterday reading about all of the terrifying demons that had, apparently, always lived right under her nose.

Clary finished getting ready and headed up to campus trying to figure out the best way possible to explain this new world to Simon without coming across as a complete lunatic.

Walking into the store, she recognized Simon from the back of his head. His figure was hunched over as he shook the remaining sugar from a crinkled packet into his coffee.

Smiling fondly, Clary walked up to him and hugged him from behind, he startled and Clary laughed lightly.

"Hey there." She greeted.

Simon looked confused and more than a little bit concerned, "Hey yourself. . ." he responded.

"Why don't we find a place to sit down and you can tell me what the phone call this morning was all about."

They got a table in the corner, looking out over Broadway and 121st street and Clary reflected on how normal and comfortable this all felt, nothing like the past few days which had been filled with fear and frustration.

"Look, Simon, this is going to sound totally crazy, but I need you to be open minded about this."

"Open minded like MoMA open minded or like that time we went to see a woman dance on butter open minded?"

"Like the woman dancing on butter with a little bit of cult thrown in."

"Well then," he furrowed his eyebrows, "let's hear it."

Clary told him everything, from seeing Jace and Isabelle on the Subway to the blocked calls this morning. Simon listened quietly though his face remained skeptical. When she finally finished her story, he looked at her and sighed.

"I'm sorry Clary, you know I want to believe you, but that's a lot to ask when you're talking about Grade A Crazy."

"I know," she answered, "I know it's crazy and that's why I brought this" she held up her stele "to give your scientific mind a piece of tangible proof. Watch me, keep watching and don't blink."

She activated the invisibility rune and reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Do you believe me now?" she asked.

Simon's jaw dropped, "Yeah" he croaked, "seems like there's something to it after all. But can we go back to my room before people start to think I'm talking to myself like a crazy person?"

She laughed, "Sounds like a good idea."

Together they walked back and Clary deactivated the invisibility rune when she stepped into Simon's shoebox of a room. In a lot of ways, it reminded her of his childhood bedroom, walls covered in geeky posters, familiar comics strewn across the floor.

Thankfully Simon, unlike Clary, had had a bit more luck in getting a good room for his Senior year and ended up with a studio single giving them the privacy needed to talk freely.

Simon sat down shakily on his bed, and Clary took her normal spot at his desk.

"So everything you told me back at the café" Simon sat back, "it's all real?"

Clary nodded her head.

"Still," she pointed out, "there are a few things that don't add up. For instance Jace, subway-coffee guy, said that being a Shadowhunter is like a genetic trait, passed down through bloodlines, but I've never heard my mother say anything about something like this."

"There are a lot of things that don't add up," Simon responded, "but you've said before yourself that you feel like you don't know that much about your Mom's past. Maybe she's retired."

"I don't think so," Clary said, "these guys seemed to keep pretty tight tabs on the members of their little club."

"Well you're seeing this guy again tomorrow, right?" Simon asked.

"Not tomorrow, but the next day." Clary corrected.

"Well then, let's treat your meetings with this guy like office hours. Create a list of questions beforehand so that you don't get off topic or leave with more confusion than you started out with."

Clary smiled, Simon always knew how to make an action plan in any situation, no matter how crazy and this situation was certainly up there.

"OK" she answered, pulling out a notebook and a pen. Together they crafted a list of questions for Jace about the Shadowhunter world and how Clary herself fit into the world. Most importantly, Simon pointed out, Clary needed to find out what they wanted from her in the future and how she could minimize her interaction with them.

After scraping together a small dinner from Simon's mostly bare cabinets, Clary was feeling much better. She was still scared and anxious, but she didn't feel quite as blindsided as she had two days ago when she woke up alone after being attacked in an unfamiliar bed.

Simon walked her downstairs and hugged her goodbye saying "And text me when you know where and when you're next meeting with the guy is, I'd like to come with you or at least know where you are. He sounds like a creep."

Clary nodded and turned to leave.

Simon had insisted she call a cab home, but she was on autopilot and walked over the 116th subway stop.

The night was crisp and bright, a full moon shining up above and the cold air was clearing her head, Clary decided she could walk a little bit further to the next stop.

Clary walked past the 110th stop and the 103rd stop, deciding just to get on the express train at 96th street. She thought uneasily of the Institute, the great gothic stronghold for the Shadowhunters. But that was on the East Side and she was on Broadway and there was no way that she was going to run into them.

Clary was about to cross the street when she heard a noise, a wailing noise like a baby crying. She hesitated trying to hear the crying again but it was now only silence. And then a second voice joined it, this one that of a little girl screaming and crying, "Help! I want my Mommy!"

Pulling her Seraph Blade out of her jacket, Clary broke out into a run towards the noise source following it down a side road as the screaming and crying got louder and louder.

Clary pressed her back against a building wall, peering around the corner to take in the scene before her.

There was an adult woman with bright orange-red lips and a long black coat standing in front of a little girl clutching a doll as she continued to cry and beg for her mother.

The woman noticed Clary and smiled at her with sharp teeth, with that apologetic look on her face that parents always got when their children made scenes. But there was something else, something wrong that made Clary stand her ground and watch the scene unfold before her.

The woman turned back to the little girl, "Hush darling, I am your mother."

"No you aren't!" the girl cried back and the woman looked so hurt that Clary almost felt badly for her.

"I'm sorry that you feeling that way, sweetie, but your father and I are married now which makes me your step-mother."

Suddenly, Clary felt ridiculous. She was seeing demons everywhere, starting at shadows. She was about to turn around and leave when she noticed something bright white coming out of the black garbage bags behind the woman. Crumpled in the corner of the alley where two perpendicular buildings met was a pile of garbage bags underneath which a small, white hand reached out towards Clary.

A wave of nausea and fear rolled over her. Still hiding her Angel Blade behind her back, she screwed up her courage and stuck out her chest calling forward in a loud voice.

"Step away from the girl."

The woman looked irritated as she turned towards Clary, "Now look here," the woman said, "this is a private conversation. Leave. Immediately."

Clary took another step forward as her heart beat furiously in her chest.

"I will not."

The woman smiled as her teeth elongated into six inch needles and her face contorted into a twisted, hideous demon's face.

She called out in a deep voice "Fine, then I will just have to kill you both."

Clary whispered, "Seraphina" and watched her blade illuminate the night. Advancing on the she-demon she turned to the little girl, "Run! As fast as you can into any store and tell them that you were attacked. Go! Now!"

She didn't look back as the little girl ran out of the alleyway.

Clary swung the blade in her hand as she and the demon began to circle each other.

"You're too late you know," she taunted, "I've already killed one of your precious children."

"Oh yeah?" Clary responded, "Well now you're going to die for it. Hope it was worth it."

"Oh, it was," she crowd, "Nephilim blood is the sweetest there is. And Nephilim children's blood? Positively delightful."

Clary looked desperately around the alleyway for something other than her blade to use as a weapon. The demon was not letting her get close and she needed to be close for a successful attack. Slowly she picked up the top of a garbage can and hurled it at the demon, rejoicing as it struck her directly in the face.

The demon snarled and moved unnaturally fast towards Clary, spitting poison at her. Clary blocked her face, but could feel the stinging burn of ichor on her arms. Suddenly, she was being thrown backwards. Her head cracked against the wall and suddenly, the world seemed blurry.

"Aww, that's it? I'm disappointed in you, Shadowhunter."

Clary stayed down, feigning a worse injury than she had and began to whimper. The demon crouched down next to her and whispered, "I look forward to eating your bones and drinking your blood" as she curled her clawed hands around Clary's right leg, digging into the flesh.

Just as she leaned forward to make good on her promise, Clary's arm shot out wildly and she cut across the front of her chest, slashing through, where she thought, a heart should be.

The demon spat up ichor as she backed away from Clary, stumbled and fell.

Clary crawled over to the demons prostrate body, straddled it and shoved her blade into its head. She heard someone else come into the alley, heard boots crunching on gravel, but she kept stabbing it over and over again until she felt an arm grab her shoulder.

"It's dead." She finally looked up.

It was Jace his golden eyes almost looked sad, "And you're injured" he noted.

Clary let herself be pulled to her feet and wiped the blood off of her face.

"Come on," he tugged lightly on her elbow, "let's go get you patched up."

"No." she mumbled, pulling away from him.

"Clary," he said firmly, "she's dead, there's nothing else you can do."

"No!" she answered, louder this time and ripped her arms out of his grip. "There's a child here," and she half-ran, half-stumbled to the corner of the alley where she had seen the hand reaching out before. The hand wasn't there anymore, but Clary kept pulling at the garbage bags.

Jace tried to pull her away again, "Demon ichor can make you hallucinate, there's nothing here, Clary."

But just as he pulled her away, she brought the last of the garbage bags with her to reveal a small boy who lay very still.

Jace went deathly pale. Clary looked between Jace and the boy.

"Do you recognize him?" she asked, "the demon said that she had killed a Nephilim child already."

But Jace didn't move, Clary kneeled down next the boy and placed her face over his nose and her hand over his heart, checking for signs of life. She felt a warm puff against her cheek and suddenly the boy began to cough and opened his eyes.

"You OK, kiddo?" she asked. The boy must have been three or four years old, Clary realized as he opened his electric blue eyes and stared up at her.

"My head hurts." He had a slight lisp and blinked heavily.

"I know, sweet pea, we're going to take you home and get you some medicine for that, OK?"

"OK." He answered. Looking behind her for the first time, he smiled slightly and called out, "Jacie!" the little boy held out his arms, but Jace remained frozen and stock still.

Clary sighed, stooping down to scoop him up and pull him onto her hip.

She turned to Jace, "Come on, let's take a cab back to the Institute."

He nodded numbly and followed her to the curb, holding up his hand to hail a cab.

By the time they got into the car, the little boy had fallen soundly asleep against her coat, legs wrapped around her and little chubby fingers clasping her lapels.

"His name is Michael," Jace breathed out shakily, "he went missing a couple hours ago. He wanted to go play in the snow, but Iz said no and so he snuck out. He's only 3 years old. You saved his life. I just—" he broke off and cleared his throat, "thank you."

She should've just nodded, accepted his thanks and left it at that. Instead she blurted out:

"Is he yours?"

He gave her a strange look, but answered, "In a way he is all of ours. But, no I'm not his biological father. He was left on the steps as a baby. Abandoned here. He's a bit like me in that way, I guess."

Clary wanted to ask what he meant by that, but they had already pulled up to the curb.

Jace got out and held the door open for her. He silently offered to take Michael, but he was clinging to her coat and Clary just shook her head. Together, they walked up the steps in silence and, again, Jace opened and held the door for her.

In a way, it almost felt bizarrely domestic, Clary couldn't help thinking, as they walked into the hallway.

"Do you remember the way to the infirmary?"

Clary nodded.

"Take him there, please, I need to get Hodge and tell the others to stop looking."

Clary walked down the long, dark hallways. One hand holding Michael up, the other cradling his head of cherubic curls. As she walking through the Cathedral, Clary felt a sense of peace wash over her and in a matter of minutes she was back in the infirmary.

When she pulled back the covers and tucked him in, he woke up briefly and his blue eyes looked slightly unfocused.

He looked up at her and whispered, "I fought a monster! Like Jacie and Izzy and Alec! And so did you! You saved me! What's your name?" he asked, his lisp becoming more pronounced as he fought off sleep.

She smiled back at him, "I'm Clary and you were very brave tonight. But right now you need to get some sleep OK?" She tried to think of stories her mother used to tell her at bedtime, but he had already fallen back to sleep and was snoring softly.

While she waited, Clary drew two iratzes on herself, one for her head, the other for leg watching as her skin mended itself, urged on by the rune.

Not fifteen minutes later, Alec and Isabelle came bounding into the room, racing up to the bed, as Jace and an old man, Hodge she suspected, walked in beside them. Isabelle had a hand clapped over her mouth, eyes welled with tears and Alec put a hand on her shoulder.

Isabelle looked up at Clary, "Is he . . .?" she trailed off.

Clary smiled at her, "He's just sleeping, he was talking coherently to me about twenty minutes ago."

The noise had woken him up.

Michael blinked his eyes open, "Everybody's here!" he exclaimed, "Is it my birthday?"

And just like that, as children are often want to do, he broke the tension of the moment and everyone shared watery smiles as Hodge moved forward to diagnose his injuries.

"Looks like mental, spiritual, and emotional exhaustion." He declared after checking Michael for any serious injuries, "Maybe a concussion, we'll have to wake him up every hour just in case."

Clary quickly texted her mom, "Staying in my dorm tonight, forgot that I had to meet with my advisor in the morning xo."

"I'll do it, wake him up, I mean, you all look exhausted you should go to bed."

Hodge nodded, explaining what the different vials were that he was leaving by Michael's bed side for Michael and for Clary's ichor burns and bruised head.

Isabelle bent down and kissed Michael on the cheek, a tear splashing on his face as she did so.

"Why are you crying Izzy?" Michael asked. But Izzy just smiled and shook her head at him.

Alec spoke up for the first time since coming into the room, "We're just happy to see you, buddy," she said ruffling his hair, "you gave us all quite a scare."

Michael looked sad for a moment, "I know," he said, "I'm sorry."

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Alec responded, "OK?"

"OK."

And with that they were gone. Jace stayed behind them.

Clary looked over to the bed and saw that Michael had, once again, fallen back to sleep. She looked up at Jace, "You should really get some rest too, you know." She whispered.

"I want to stay here and help you make sure Michael wakes up every hour."

"How about this: I'll take the first shift; you take the second one, OK? I'll wake you up in three hours." She suggested. Of course Clary had no intention of doing so and was trying to remember the rune for wakefulness even as she said this, but Jace seemed to buy it.

He gave a slight smile and turned back to look at her.

"You know," he said, "When I realized there was an untrained, adult Shadowhunter right in our backyard I thought I would be following you around, pulling you out of danger. And here you are, taking care of us."

Clary had the feeling that he never would have said that in the harshness of daylight or when he was feeling more like himself so all she said in response was:

"Things don't always turn out the way you expect them to. Go to sleep Jace."

And with that, he got on the bed next to Michael's and went to sleep.

Clary sat down on a chair near Michael's bed, set her phone timer for one hour and pulled out the Gray Book, scrawling a wakefulness rune and an energy rune onto her right leg.

She spent the rest of the night practicing runes and sketching different designs.

o0o

When the sun began to filter through the infirmary windows at 7:09 AM, Jace blearily blinked his eyes open, feeling more awake than he had in weeks.

With a jolt, he remembered where he was and why he was lying in the infirmary next to Michael. He walked over to Clary, who was still sketching, sat down beside her and looked accusingly at her as he said, "I thought we agreed on three hours," he checked his watch, "it's been six."

She looked up from her sketchbook.

"I thought you needed it more than I did," she smiled slightly, "Age before beauty and all that."

He stared back at her, "What?" he asked, "Now you decide to develop a sense of humor? When its 7 AM and I haven't even showered yet?"

"I'm not sure what your un-showered state has to do with your inability to generate repartee, but if you need time alone with a mirror to practice your lines before the day starts, go right ahead. I'm not holding you back."

"OK, I could have gone for a joke about you wanting to watch me sleep all night or you thinking about me showering, but," he held up his hands dramatically, "I thought your good deed granted you immunity for one day from my razor sharp wit."

"Just one day? What do I have to do for a lifetime reprieve?"

He stood up and just looked at her blankly with a raised eyebrow.

She laughed, "Go take a shower and ask someone else to take on watch duty, I'll stay here till they come."

Jace mock saluted her, "Aye, aye, Captain," and with that he was off.

It was funny, she thought, to watch him snap on his exoskeleton of wit and charm after seeing him vulnerable last night. She thought that she was a cliché: an artist from Brooklyn with her Bohemian mother and all that, but his Byronic, humor-as-a-defense-mechanism, laughing in the face of danger act almost took the cake.

She finished her last sketch and was putting her things away when Isabelle walked into the room.

"Hi," Isabelle offered reaching out her right hand, "I don't think we were ever actually properly introduced. I'm Isabelle Lightwood and you're Clary Fray. She took in the sight of Seraphina at Clary's waist. "I see you found my special package for you. I know the boys would have disapproved, but I'm so glad I sent it to you anyways. I knew that if you were clever enough to find it, you deserved to have one. Besides, it's not like it's that hard to figure out how to use a blade in an emergency."

"Yeah," Clary laughed weakly, "pointy end goes in the bad guy, right?"

"Right." Isabelle answered, "if you didn't know that, you'd both be dead." Clary flinched, taken aback by her bluntness, and Isabelle quickly backpedaled.

"What I meant to say," she corrected herself, "is that you were very brave to rescue him the way that you did. I don't know exactly what happened. But I do know that between chasing after me and Jace the other day and now attacking a demon when you've never held a blade before takes balls. You've got a lot of potential to be a great Shadowhunter. I guess what I'm try to say is that I would be honored to train you, Clary."

Clary reeled; did she even want to be trained as a Shadowhunter? Did she even have a choice at this point? She thought back to Jace's metaphor, that her body was like a military submachine gun she had never read the instruction manual for.

"Thank you," Clary said, "But I need to think about it."

"I understand that," Isabelle responded, "And besides you really do need to sleep. I know you sent Jace out to go take a shower, and I agree that he needs one— the greasy hair look really does not work on him, but I sent him instead to prepare a guest room for you. He should be back any second actually…"

And with that, Jace walked back into the room.

"Perfect!" Isabelle exclaimed turning back to Clary, "Jace can show you to the guest room and I'll take over watch duty. Thanks again Clary, we all owe you a tremendous debt."

Clary followed Jace out of the infirmary and through a door hidden in the wall.

"I never noticed that door before" she commented.

"That's because you're not supposed to notice it," he answered, "It's a hidden hallway originally meant for servants to carry linens and chamber pots through, but now we just use it as a short cut."

"It's an incredible building."

"It is" he agreed, "Some say it's even the oldest building in New York. There's a specific landmark here, we'll show it to you later that the Institute was built around. We have a specific way of travelling so that means that we, Shadowhunters I mean, are not limited by the constraints of traditional cities. This is, arguably what allowed our ancestors to build the Institute, this building, before the city of New York, or even New Amsterdam, existed. The architectural style suggests 12th or 13th century construction, but I'd love to get a stone sample carbon dated some day for a definitive answer."

Unwarranted, an image of Jace in a tweed jacket with elbow patches and thick framed black glasses, giving a lecture on gothic architecture popped into her head. He had the right voice for a lecturer, Clary thought, soft and mellifluous with a vaguely exotic, but clear, accent. She smiled to herself at the absurd notion of Jace as one of her professors.

They continued walking, taking a few turns as they went.

"What was that thing last night?" Clary asked, "I mean I know it was a demon, but I think the Lexicon said that very few demons could actually speak English, or any language for that matter."

"You're right," he answered, "I was startled myself when I first encountered one. They're not in the Lexicon yet, they only started popping up in the past ten, fifteen years. They're called Paraneous demons. They send out audio 'feelers' in between killings, to lure humans into their trap by imitating something, whatever pulls at your heart strings the most. They feed on that feeling, not quite sorrow, not quite compassion until their victims die or pass out."

"I heard a baby crying." Clary blurted then, out of curiosity asked, "What did you hear? When you encountered one?"

He looked startled for a moment, the smirked back at her.

"A baby crying? Guess it's that maternal instinct. Anyways they're drawn especially to Shadowhunters and warlocks. There was a sudden influx of Paraneous demons into the city last night, which consequently, I was calling to warn you about to tell you to stay home just yesterday morning. Calls that you, for whatever reason chose to ignore."

Clary felt a twinge of annoyance and suddenly remembered why she had disliked Jace when they had coffee together.

"And what?" She retorted, "You couldn't leave a message or anything? Well like you just saw, I can handle myself."

"Yeah you could handle yourself. Against one. But what if there had been two, or even a dozen? What then? You would have died and Michael would have too. Look, I think it's great that your parents raised you to look out for others, but sometimes you have to think about the consequences before just rushing in."

The grain of truth behind the statement stung.

"Just one parent. My father's dead. And besides I'm started training with Isabelle soon and then I'll be just as capable of any other Shadowhunter."

"Good." He answered.

"Yeah, it is good." She responded. Clary suddenly realized how close together they were standing, just a breath's space in between them. She coughed a took a step backwards.

"This is your room, by the way," Jace said, smiling, "That's why we've been standing in the doorway for the past five minutes. Why don't you go to sleep, you deserve it."

And with that he was gone, again. How he always managed to get the last word, Clary had no idea. And as he disappeared into the twists and turns and hidden passages of the guest wing, Clary realized that he had never said what he heard as the Paraneous demon call when he encountered it or how he had even managed to find her and Michael in the alleyway.

Beautiful and charming and not at all forthcoming, Clary thought again. Clary took a deep breath and closed the door behind her.

END CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Clary has had a really rough start to her Winter Break….
> 
> Next time: The truth about Clary's recent extracurricular activities comes out, how will Jocelyn react?
> 
> Please review! It's really very helpful!
> 
> If anyone's interested, this is the woman dancing on butter that Simon mentions: watch?v=EvMwCvbHHUY
> 
> P.S. Did anyone catch the Game of Thrones reference? If you did, tell me in a review!


	4. Chapter 4

Clary kept her eyes closed when she first woke up, listening as heavy rain and sleet pounded against her window, hammering away the fluffy white snow outside. She was more comfortable than she had been in weeks. After a few moments of luxurious stretching, Clary opened her eyes.

She yawned and climbed out of bed, pushing past the canopy curtains to picking up the jeans and shirt she had shucked earlier. She wished she hadn’t just thrown them on the floor as she tried to smooth out wrinkles. It was a hopeless gesture anyways since the clothes were torn and covered in blood.

The room smelled like smoke and, for the first time, Clary noticed a fire roaring in the marble fireplace. She wondered if it ran on magic, burning out the cold whenever it was needed, or if this is what Jace had been doing when Isabelle sent him to prepare a room for Clary.

Clary cracked her back and walked over to the full length to assess the damage. Her leg had pink-white scars where the demon had scratched her, but the skin had healed over completely. Her head no longer felt sore and she couldn’t see any bumps as she twisted and turned, lifting up her hair to check. The bruise on her neck from her initial encounter with Jace had faded away completely. She wiped the eyeliner from underneath her eyes and wished she had some makeup to make herself look a little bit more presentable.

Clary thought about how quickly her life had changed over the past few days. Today was Tuesday. Last Tuesday all she had cared about was handing in her final papers on time and sitting her two final exams. Now she carried the burden of being a Shadowhunter. In a way, though, the burden felt good. Like the weight of it was keeping her anchored to the Earth. As terrified as she had been last night, she had also felt a sort of buzz that came along with it, an adrenaline high she supposed.

As dangerous and crazy and scary as the past few days had been, they had also felt _right._ Like this was her destiny and she belonged in this world. Her stele and Angel Blade felt like extensions of her body. She wondered if this was how Luke Skywalker had felt the first time he held a lightsaber.

Three sharp raps on her door pulled her out of her reverie. Clary quickly walked over to the door, pausing to try and smooth out her jeans one more time before opening the door.

To Clary’s surprise, it was Isabelle on the other side.

Isabelle took in Clary’s ruined clothes and grimaced, “Can’t tell you how many good pairs of jeans have died in the name of defending the world,” she said, “occupational hazard. We’ll have to get you some real hunting gear soon. For now, though, I brought you these.”

She held up a pile of clean clothes which Clary accepted with a smile and thanks.

“The door just across the hall is a bathroom, if you’d like to take a shower.” Isabelle told her, “There’s plenty of hot water.”

“I will definitely go do that,” Clary answered, ducking out into the hallway.

“Clary?” Isabelle asked.

“Yes?”

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Honestly, Clary had not given much thought to Isabelle’s offer to train her specifically, but she had thought about her future in the Shadowhunter world. Clary knew that she couldn’t leave this all behind even if she wanted to and if she was going to pursue a future as a Shadowhunter, she would need some serious training. So instead of bluntly (and honestly) answering ‘no’ Clary responded, “I have.”

“And?” Isabelle was beginning to get impatient.

“I would be honored to have you as my teacher.” Clary accepted.

“Great! We start tomorrow. Oh and by the way our parents just got home from Alicante so we’ll all be eating together, even Hodge. Dinner’s at 6:30 sharp don’t be late!” she chirped.

Clary checked her phone. Oddly enough there were no missed calls or texts, but it was a weekday and Jocelyn had probably gone over to help Luke out at the bookstore since he had been shorthanded recently.

It was 4:18 PM, Clary had just under two hours to shower and compose herself. She shook her head, there was no reason to be nervous, she had practically saved their youngest ward, and there was no reason for the Lightwoods’ parents to dislike her.

The bathroom lit up as she walked into it.

It was all carved out of a deep green marble and had a huge soaking tub. Clary turned the shower up as hot as it would go and scrubbed her hair and skin clean. By the time she toweled off her hair and pulled on Isabelle’s clean clothes, Clary practically felt like a new woman.

She checked her phone again, 4:47 PM it read. Clary decided to explore the Institute, walking up spiraling staircases and through long hallways lined by glass cabinets full of maps, books, and artefacts. Without really meaning to, she somehow found herself again in the hidden passage way as her feet took her on autopilot back to the Infirmary.

As she approached the Infirmary, she could hear Jace’s voice and she walked up quietly to get a peak of what was going on.

Clary could see the back of his head, his golden hair a shock of color against the sanitized white of the room, as he sat at the foot of Michael’s bed with a book in his lap. He looked down at the book in his hands as he read to a captivated Michael:

_“So she wove a basket made of tall reeds—_ that’s like tall grass” Jace interrupted himself to explain, “ _and covered it to keep the boy safe. She pushed the basket down the river, hoping that someone would find her son and take pity on him.”_

Jace paused as he turned the page and Michael looked very concerned, “Well what happened next?” he demanded to know.

“Hold your horses, buddy! I’m getting to it!” Jace laughed and cleared his throat to begin reading again.

_“The basket floated all the way down the Nile river until a woman standing on the shore stopped the basket and lifted up the child. It was the Pharaoh’s daughter. Despite being brought up by her cruel and harsh father, she was a kind and compassionate woman and was moved to pity. ‘This is one of Hebrew’s children’ she whispered to her handmaiden. She begged the handmaiden to keep and protect the boy._

_“The handmaiden agreed and took the child in. Years passed and he grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. When he was fully grown, the handmaiden brought him back to the princess and she greeted him enthusiastically. She declared, ‘This is my son, for I pulled him out of the water and his name from now on shall be Moses.”_

Jace held up the book when he finished to show Michael an illustration.

“Wow!” Michael’s eyes shone, “the princess is so beautiful! Does this mean that the boy became a prince?” he asked shyly.

“Sure does, Michael, and do you remember what else Moses did?”

“He built the boat and saved all the animals from the flood!”

“Eh, not quite right, but he did have to deal with water,” Jace mused, “But we’ll read that story another day OK?”

 “OK.” Michael answered with a yawn.

They looked almost startlingly like father and son, Clary thought. Michael’s blond curls matched the same golden hue of Jace’s and their easy companionship warmed her heart.

“Feeling tired already?” Jace asked.

“No!” Michael answered, sitting up straight to prove his point. His new vantage point allowed him, for the first time, to see their audience in the doorway, “Clary!” he exclaimed and Jace turned around raising an eyebrow as he noticed her standing in the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jace asked.

She felt her cheeks burn with the embarrassment of being caught, but she answered anyways, “Long enough to know that you have an excellent reading voice.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile and he gestured for him to sit on the bed next to her. She pulled up a chair instead and sat down, turning to face Michael.

“How are you feeling, Michael?” she asked.

“I feel pretty OK. Sad that I made everyone else sad, but happy that everyone’s been spending time with me!” The child’s honesty was surprisingly refreshing and endearing.

“That’s good to hear, Michael.”

He smiled beatifically up at her.

“Thanks again for saving me, you were so brave! Like Daniel in the lion’s den!” She wanted to ask how much he remembered of the night before or point out that Daniel didn’t actually fight anyone, but decided that both responses would be a little too traumatic. Instead she answered:

“You were very brave too! We should call you Michael the Lionhearted.”

Michael puffed out his chest at the epithet and the two adults next to him laughed.

*

Back in the Infirmary doorway where Clary had stood minutes ago was a woman half covered by shadow. Shaking, she unconsciously lifted her trembling hand to cover her mouth as she whispered, “Jocelyn?”

But no, that was impossible. Jocelyn was Maryse’s age. Maryse had known, at least abstractly that Jocelyn had had a daughter. She had found out after running into Luke Garroway a couple of years ago at the super market, of all places, where he had approached her as if they were nothing more than college friends who had lost touch.

Maryse walked as quickly as she dared to her office her hands still shaking as she rifled through her desk for the piece of paper Luke had given her in the grocery store.

Punching a number into her telephone desk, she waited and listened to the ringing. There was no answer, but when the beep sounded Maryse began to speak.

“Your daughter is here. At the Institute. I don’t know why or how, but she is and—“ her voice broke off. What was she doing? She should have notified the clave when she saw Luke two years ago. But that was one thing, practically inviting Jocelyn to the Institute was entirely another. She hastily hit the “end call” button and set the phone back down.

Did she call the clave now? Could she? Did the sins of the father apply to the entire family? Maryse didn’t know anymore.

*

“Clary.” Michael addressed very seriously, turning to face her completely.

“Yes, Michael?” Clary asked, equally serious.

“Just so you know I don’t have a concuss—conos—concussion anymore so nobody has to wake me up every hour anymore even though you did all last night. Thank you for that too!”

“That’s excellent news, Michael, I’m very glad to hear it.”

Jace checked his watch and stood up, “Its 6:22,” he turned to Clary, “we should probably head down to dinner. You,” he ruffled Michael’s hair, “need to go back to sleep and let your body do the rest of the work so that you’re all better by Christmas. OK?”

“OK.”

Jace held out his hand and Michael bumped his tiny, chubby fist against Jace’s huge tattooed and calloused one.

Clary smiled fondly at Michael, “Sweet dreams!” she called as they left the Infirmary.

They walked out of the infirmary side by side, both at peace for the first time in a while. After a few minutes, Clary broke the silence.

“So, is the bedtime Bible story a Shadowhunter tradition or just a personal favorite of yours?” She asked.

“Actually,” Jace answered, “it’s Michael’s favorite. You can probably guess why, the abandoned baby becomes a prince and a favorite of God. He asks me to read it to him sometimes when he’s had a particularly bad day and he always pretends that he doesn’t know the story. But bedtime Bible stories are also pretty useful for Shadowhunter children, they kill two birds with one stone: educational and entertaining.”

They stepped out of the elevator in sync. Clary was about to ask another question when she heard the sound of raised voices. After exchanging a quick look with Jace, the two of them ran towards the noise source, Jace pulling out his blade as he ran.

When they pulled up onto the scene, all speaking immediately stopped.

In the doorway stood Jocelyn and Luke who looked positively drenched by the cold rain. On the other side of the door stood two unfamiliar people whom Clary could only deduce were the Lightwood parents.

“Mom! Luke!” Clary exclaimed, “What are you guys doing here? How did you even know where I was?”

Maryse spoke up, “I called them, but I don’t know what I was thinking, neither of them can be here.”

Clary was outraged, “Who are you? And why would you even bring them into this? They have _nothing_ to do with this.”

Jace lowered his blade whispering to Clary, “These are the Lightwoods, Maryse and Robert.”

Maryse’s expression softened, “I had not realized how much your mother had kept from you.”

Clary scoffed at Maryse, “What are you talking about?” but when she looked over at Jocelyn, she saw a strange look on her face. There were many emotions there: sadness, anger, frustration, but no confusion.

“Mom?” Clary asked, “What is she talking about?” her voice was less certain this time.

“Oh honey,” she sighed, “I knew this day would come, but I suppose I had always hoped against all hope that it wouldn’t.”

“Mom, you’re scaring me, what are you talking about?”

Mr. Lightwood spoke up for the first time, “Your mother was a Shadowhunter before you were born. One of the best actually. But she went into hiding many, many years ago and we never heard from her since. Luke was one too, once upon a time, before he was bitten and turned into a werewolf.”

At another time and place, Clary would have appreciated Mr. Lightwood’s forthrightness. Right now though, it was too much information at once.

“I don’t understand. A werewolf?” She turned to Jace, “Did you know about this too? I am the only one in the dark?”

Jace’s eyes were bright and intense as he looked back at her, “I swear on the Angel, I had no idea. I wouldn’t have kept this from you.”

For a moment, Clary was jostled out of her feelings of confusion and betrayal as she stared back at Jace, “I know you wouldn’t.”

Suddenly, Jocelyn whirled on Jace, “And who the Hell are you to have plucked my daughter out of safety and peace to shove her into danger?—

“Mom!” Clary tried to interrupt, her indignity coming through her tone, but Jocelyn would not be interrupted.

“And you! Is this the boy you ‘got coffee with’ two days ago? You’ve been lying to me this whole time! I thought you were up here with Simon safe in your dorm! Not,” she gestured wildly, grabbing for words, “hunting monsters with teenagers.”

Clary could feel tension building behind her temples as a splitting headache came onto her.

 “I love you Mom, but do you really think you’re in any position to lecture me about keeping secrets right now? Besides, I am an adult capable of making my own life decisions. Whether you like it or not I am no longer a little girl that you can lock in her room when the outside world gets too scary!”

Luke cleared his throat and everyone looked at him, “Perhaps we should give mother and daughter some time alone.”

Maryse looked begrudged but acquiesced, “Why don’t you take the living room? It’s right, well, you remember where it is Jocelyn. We’ll just be out here if you need us.”

Clary didn’t understand why they would need Maryse, but she stalked into the dining room after her mother and turned to face her after the door was closed.

“Well Mom? _Do_ you have an explanation? Were you ever going to tell me or just wait until I got attacked? How did you even keep all this from me?”

Clary felt overwhelmed and betrayed, but most of all she felt frustrated. Whenever she and her mother fought she always felt fifteen years old again, unable to articulate her thoughts clearly and powerfully. Unable to get her mother to take her seriously or change her mind about anything.

Jocelyn wrung her hands as she said, “It was a spell done by a very powerful warlock named Magnus Bane. I took you to him every two years and he would reprogram your mind to ignore everything from the Invisible World that you had seen. Anything that you saw afterward, your mind would dismiss as fantasy.”

“You _stole_ my memories from me? You reprogrammed my mind? This sounds like the premise of a dystopian novel, not something that a mother does to ‘protect’ her child. And . . . if you did it every two years then for the last two times you’ve done this I have been a legal adult both here and in Alicante.”

Jocelyn heaved a great sigh and began, “I’m sorry, but it just never felt like the right time to stop! At first you were just a little girl and I wanted to protect you. All of a sudden when my back was turned, you grew up! You even went to college; you had the opportunity to have a normal, peaceful life. I should have known that I couldn’t safeguard you from this world forever though,” she laughed without joy, “you are my daughter after all.”

Jocelyn sighed and set her jaw, “But I damn well tried. And you know what Clary? I’m glad that I did. Because seeing you here, now, in the Institute with a Seraph blade clipped to your belt just about breaks my heart,” her voice cracked on the last word and Clary felt her eyes burn with unshed tears, but Jocelyn wasn’t finished.

“And I’d do it all over again if I had too. It’s not too late Clary, you can still turn away from all this, leave it all behind. I could even have Magnus continue to wipe the memories away. Allow you to live a normal life. But you’re an adult now and the choice is yours.”

Clary walked over to her mother and looked into her eyes before hugging her tight. After a moment she released her and stepped backwards.

“I forgive you Mom and I understand why you did what you did, but I still don’t agree with your choices. No more lies from now on. This is who I am. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere, Mom, you know that. Maybe this was why. Maybe _this_ is who I’m meant to be.”

A tear slipped down Jocelyn’s face and she mustered up a smile putting her hands on either side of Clary’s face.

“My brave little girl, you always were too compassionate for your own good.” A moment passed before Jocelyn whispered, “Come on, little girl, let’s go home.”

Clary winced and gently pulled her mother’s hands off of her face.

 “Look Mom,” she began “like I said, I do forgive you and I do understand your actions, but I think I need some space right now. I’m going to stay uptown for another couple nights either at my dorm or here if they’ll still have me.”

Jocelyn’s face was tight, “they’ll have you, Clary, hundreds of Shadowhunters used to seek asylum here. One girl will hardly be a burden.”

There was that word again, _girl_ , she was sick of it, but knew better than to point it out now. Another conversation for another time Clary decided. Instead she just nodded and told her, “I’ll be home before Christmas Eve, I promise.”

“Don’t take too long, Clary. I know this is a lot to take in, but there’s still so much I need to tell you.” She turned and walked out of the dining room.

Clary pushed herself off the table she had been leaning on and went out to face the others in the hallway, watching as Luke and Jocelyn walked out of the institute.

Only Jace and Maryse remained, Mr. Lightwood having disappeared somewhere else, presumably to get the dinner he had been promised.

“Everything alright?” Maryse asked.

“Yeah, I just need some space to process everything right now. Do you mind if I stay here at the Institute for a couple of nights?” Clary asked.

“Of course!” Maryse answered, “Isabelle and I would be delighted to have another woman in the house, it’s always just the two of us with my husband, Alec, Jace, Michael, and sometimes Max, though I suppose you haven’t met him yet. He’s my youngest biological son.”

Clary wondered if her sudden generosity was brought on by the guilt of inadvertently causing a rift between mother and daughter, but she quickly dismissed the thought. There were more important things she needed to spend her thoughts on.

“Thank you,” Clary said, “I really do appreciate your generosity.” 

Maryse smiled and touched her arm lightly. “It’s no trouble at all; really, it’s a delight to have Jocelyn’s daughter here.”

The way she said “Jocelyn’s daughter” gave Clary pause. In another life, she mused, Maryse could have been like an aunt to her, like a godmother. Instead she was practically a stranger. It turned out that this world was even more complicated than she had thought before.

Maryse squeezed her arm before releasing her, “I think the others and my husband have gone to eat in the kitchen you can join us if you’d like or I can save some food for you later.

“I’m not too hungry, thank you for the offer though.” Maryse nodded and walked away. Clary closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her forehead, wishing that her headache would go away.

A cough sounded from her right and Clary turned towards the noise in surprise. She had forgotten that Jace was still there.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you to your room. I remember how confusing this place can be when you first come here.”

After a few beats of silence, he blurted out “You OK?” as if he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“No, but I will be.”

He nodded and Clary tried desperately to remember the questions she and Simon had drafted up together to ask Jace.

“When did you first come here?” Clary finally asked.

“I was about ten years old. My dad died. One more thing you and I have in common, I guess. His name was Michael Wayland. He’s been called a great man by many people.”

“But not by you?” she asked.

“That’s not what I said. He _was_ a great man and a great Shadowhunter.” His eyes flashed and Clary was reminded of a lion, fierce with loyalty.

Clary felt a rush of shame wash over her.

“That’s not what I— I mean I didn’t mean to suggest anything.” She breathed out through her nose and set her shoulders. “All I meant to ask was if you remembered anything about him. I don’t really know much about my own father.”

“He was a hard man to have as a father, but everything that he did, he did for me. He made me into the best possible Shadowhunter I could be, and now here I am with skills practically unrivaled.” He answered with a smirk.

He was always doing this, she thought, making light of situations right when things took a turn into Too Serious. Not that she could blame him; she _had_ put him in a difficult position and decided to let him get away with it.

“Yeah. . .” she drawled as they rounded another corner, “I hear so much about these supposed skills of yours, but I’ve never actually seen them in action.”

“Is that an invitation to show off?”

“No, more of an expression of doubt, really.”

Jace held a hand over his chest, “You wound me, my lady.”

Clary rolled her eyes, “My sincerest apologies, oh fair knight.”

“Fair knight,” he repeated puffing his chest out like Michael had earlier, “I could get used to that. It fits me, don’t you think?”

He struck a ridiculous imitative pose as they passed a suit of armor, pulling off its helmet off and cramming it onto his own head.

“I think,” she answered, pulling the helmet off and putting it back in its place, “That you should stick to your day job. The helmet hair alone should be enough to deter you.”

“Tough crowd,” he smiled, “you know the jobs aren’t really that different though. Knights and Shadowhunters have a lot in common. We both have swords and fight for the good of mankind. Although I’ve never actually slayed a _dragon_. . . “ he trailed off.

“No wonder the kid is so taken with you,” Clary laughed, “you’re like a one-man show all the time.”

“Michael? Nah, you just haven’t seen him with Alec. He worships the guy. You know, that whole strong, silent, secure enough in his masculinity to borrow his boyfriend’s glitter eyeliner thing does give him a certain charisma. Besides, you know how toddlers adore glitter.”

“I don’t actually, no younger siblings, no cousins. Well actually,” she cocked head to the side, “None that I _know_ about. After tonight I wouldn’t be that surprised to learn that I had hundreds of little cousins running around Alicante.”

Jace laughed, “I don’t think any Shadowhunter family that I’ve heard of is quite _that_ prolific. Well not anymore anyways. Maybe someday soon though.” He mused, “The Clave has been giving major tax breaks to families with multiple children to encourage couples to have more children . Dying bloodlines and all that.”

“So do you feel obligated to have kids?” Clary asked, “As a full-blooded Shadowhunter, I mean.”

“Wow, Clary Fray, asking the tough questions. You should be an interviewer for that mundane show. What’s it called?”

“It’s ‘Sixty Minutes’ and I didn’t mean to offend you or pry. I guess I’m still learning about Shadowhunter culture, it seems so different from the rest of the world.”

“I’m not offended; I guess I’ve just never given kids much thought. I mean I’m only 23 it’s not like my biological clock is ticking. It never does for men, you know. You on the other hand. . .”

She smacked his arm lightly as they approached her door.

“Here we are.” He said, pointing at her door, “Get a good night’s sleep, Clary” he opened the door and pulled it out into the hallway for her.

She stepped into her room and began to close the door. Wedging her head in between the partially closed door and its frame, she called out “Oh and Jace?”

He turned around mid-step, looking back at her, “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great father.”

And before he could undermine her compliment with a joke or sarcastic retort, she slammed the door on his surprised face thinking that, for once, _she_ had gotten the last word.

And despite the hurricane of hurt and betrayal and confusion that she had experienced that day, Clary fell asleep with a smile on her face.

******

**A/N:** Planning to have the next chapter up by Friday night. Hope you all have a great New Year’s Eve.

What did you think of Jocelyn’s reaction? Or Clary’s reaction to her mother’s double life? Let me know


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Chapter 6 should be up by the end of the weekend. For now, enjoy Chapter 5!

Clary could feel the anger and frustration building in her as she struggled back up to her feet only to be struck down again.

She pushed herself onto her knees and wiped the blood from her split lip with the back of her wrist. She picked up her weapon, a staff with a sharpened end.

She stumbled forward swinging clumsily with her staff, but her opponent just laughed.

"That all you got Fray?" she taunted.

Clary lunged forward, swinging her staff under her arm making contact with her opponent's weapon. The two parried and blocked until Clary forced her backwards. They locked weapons and, sensing a stalemate, her opponent hooked one leg behind Clary's legs and pushed with both hands.

Clary fell down again and suddenly had a very sharp point digging into her throat.

Clary swatted it out of the way, feeling it scratch her throat as she did so. Her opponent switched the side of the staff facing her and rapped Clary's knuckles with the blunt end.

Clary twisted the staff out of her opponent's hands and threw it on the ground.

"For fuck's sake, Izzy." She fumed, "We've been going at it for six hours now."

Isabelle didn't change her facial expression.

"The most important time to push forward is when you're tired. It's an exercise in stamina. But if you get injured and have to take a few days off, then that would really set you back. Go refuel in the kitchens and meet me by the doors of the Cathedral in forty minutes in good sneakers and warm workout clothes."

She picked up both of their sparring staffs and put them away as Clary pushed herself up and sorely made her way into the hallway. Clary liked sparring with staffs.

Just as Isabelle used her whip as her signature weapon, Clary decided to use a two handed staff. She had seen a real, not-for-practice staff in what she liked to call the Shadowhunter Museum. The staff was elegant and tall, a cross between a trident and a sword. It felt heavy and steady in her hands and, luckily, the storage room had three wooden practice staffs which Isabelle and Clary had been using.

It had been two weeks since Clary had fallen into the Shadowhunter world. In the past ten days, Isabelle had put her on a strict training regimen sleeping and working at the Institute.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and Clary was a bit nervous to go home. She had had a couple terse conversations with her mother on the phone and much longer debriefing calls each night with Simon. Through all of this insanity, Simon had been the only consistent thing this past fortnight. He had been her rock. He kept her sane and really was the best friend anyone could ask for.

Clary stretched her arms above her head as she walked towards the kitchens. She had thought that finishing her exams early this semester had been a blessing; little did she know what her unusual schedule would lead her to discover.

Still, the training had helped to focus her, had helped to discipline her body and her mind, something she needed more than she had ever realized. She had been sleeping well, eating well, and she felt that she could work through her recent emotional turmoil.

The world seemed just as insurmountable as it had a month ago, but she felt that it was starting to make some sense at least.

It was almost 2:00, meaning that Isabelle and she should get back in time for dinner. Still, she didn't want to eat so much that she felt sick while running.

Clary finally walked into the kitchens and put a teapot of water on the stove. She cracked her neck while she waited for it to boil, reaching for an orange to peel and pull apart.

The Institute was mostly quiet, but occasional creaks and cracks made her uneasy so she pulled out her headphones and jammed them into her ears, cranking up her music as she prepared a pre-run snack/late lunch.

She poured dry oatmeal and milk into the microwave, heating it for two minutes, dancing around the kitchen as she did so and singing along quietly to herself.

When her water finished boiling, she pulled out a packet of powdered hot chocolate and sprinkled it into the mug. She finished mixing the powder and water, putting in a smiley face of marshmallows when the surface calmed.

Clary mixed together her oatmeal waiting for the mush and her hot chocolate to cool while she finished her orange, still shuffling around to her music.

Suddenly, a flash of white caught her eye. Clary did a double take before slamming herself backwards into the counter and yanking out her headphones.

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest stood Jace. He was half-smirking, biting his cheeks as if trying to keep himself from laughing.

Clary brought up a flexed hand before pointing one finger at him. All she said was, "Don't even."

He opened his arms and shrugged helplessly, "I didn't say anything!"

Clary rolled her eyes, "You didn't have to."

He took in her training gear and asked, "So, Isabelle still riding you hard?"

She raised an eyebrow, "An unfortunate choice of words, but yes she's been training me pretty rigorously."

Clary noticed his gear for the first time, "You heading out for patrol?" she asked.

With Isabelle training Clary in the Shadowhunter ways, Alec and Jace had picked up most of the patrolling duties, dispatching demons every few days. The activity was apparently fairly normal, nothing to worry about. Still, Clary felt a pang in her chest every time they went out the door, a craving to join them and help fight.

"No, I was actually hoping I could join you and Izzy on your afternoon run. I could use some fresh air and good company."

"Well," she smiled, "I don't have a problem with it as long as you can keep up. But you might want to check with Iz first." She glanced over his metal and leather gear again, "And change. I'm not running around with you while you're invisible and I'm not running around with someone everyone thinks is a BDSM fiend."

"BDSM fiend?"

"Just calling a spade a spade."

"I don't think you know what that phrase means."

"Irrelevant. Go change into goofy running gear like every other runner in New York. Be normal for once in your life."

He laughed, "Alright, alright. I'm on my way," he walked out of the kitchen, grabbing a banana and an apple as he left, "meet you at the cathedral doors."

Clary rolled her eyes again and started in on her oatmeal. She hadn't really seen much of Jace since her training began. Or anyone else for that matter. Training was hard. Hard on her body and on her mind, but she had bonded pretty well with Isabelle.

For as much of a hard ass as she was on Clary, she was also a straight shooter, an honorable woman, and pretty funny to be honest. Clary could appreciate all of these things even when she was wheezing and puking her guts out.

Clary liked the kitchen. The kitchen, like the rest of the Institute was old. But it was simpler than the rest of the institute, meant only for servants at first construction. The tables, cabinets, and counters were scrubbed wood. Maryse, or the last caretaker, must have splurged on the kitchen supplies because bright copper pots and pans hung off of the rough stone wall. The kitchen had been created only for preparation and practically, it was never fully finished to look like the rest of the Instiute. Consequently, the stone walls and ceiling almost made the space look like it was scooped out of a cave. Clary loved this kitchen.

She finished up her light lunch and washed her dishes in the stone sink which had been worn soft from centuries of use.

She ran quickly to her room, pulling on a thermal shirt, fleece, two pairs of leggings, wool socks, and running shoes. In the past, Clary had tried to start running several times but she had never really stuck with it. With Isabelle's harsh schedule though, Clary was finally getting her money's worth out of the pair of running shoes she had bought three years ago.

She secured her phone, wallet, and keys on the inside of her fleece and went downstairs to wait for Isabelle and Jace.

Isabelle got there first, her long black hair tied up to a high ponytail on the top of her head. Clary pulled a hairband off of her wrist and pulled her hair up to copy her. Just as she finished pulling her hair through the band, Jace came down the side stairs towards them.

Jace was dressed similarly to Clary but, instead of an all-black ensemble, Jace was wearing a dark purple combination, complete with a sweatband secured around his forehead.

"Seriously?" Isabelle asked.

"Well, you said to switch out the gear for goofy running clothes, this goofy enough for you?"

Clary just smiled and said, "Come on, we're burning daylight."

Together the three of them ran to Central Park, forming a triangle with Jace as the point in the back. Somewhere at the northern end of the park, Jace broke off saying that he would catch up later, running off with his ridiculous headband.

Isabelle caught Clary watching him go and asked, "Is there anything that boy can't make look good?"

Clary cleared her throat, recognizing that look on Isabelle's face answering, "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, really? Because I—"

Isabelle broke off as Clary began running away from her.

"Clary!" She called out and ran after her. "I've heard of avoiding a topic," Isabelle muttered to herself, "but this is just ridiculous!"

Isabelle skidded to a halt when she saw that Clary had stopped about thirty meters away and was talking to a couple sitting on a bench.

Jace walked forward out of the bushes where he had been standing just as the man on the bench lunged for Clary. His hand immediately flew to the dagger hidden in his sweatpants, but he stayed his hand when he saw that it was just a hug.

And that Clary was hugging him back.

Jace walked up to an equally bewildered Isabelle and shared a look with her.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends, Clary?" Jace asked.

Clary stepped back from the man she had been hugging so fiercely.

"Of course! Sorry, how rude of me! This," she pointed at the man, "is Simon Lewis, my best friend since infancy," the man laughed, "and this" she pointed at the woman, "is his sister Rebecca."

Now that Jace knew about the relationship between the two was brother and sister, he could easily see the resemblance between them. Both had dark eyes and a smattering of freckles across their pale noses. Both had hair framing their oval faces with dark curls. They were both attractive enough, Jace supposed, and seeing Clary cling to Simon stung in a way that Jace didn't really understand.

He reached out and firmly grasped Simon's hand, giving it an extra squeeze as he did so. He brought Rebecca's hand to his mouth and kissed it while she blushed prettily. Isabelle reached out and shook both Simon and Rebecca's hands.

"Excuse my brother's eccentricities," Isabelle smiled, "I promise we're not all crazy in the family. In the meantime, though, we need to get Clary back to running before sunset."

"Fair enough," Simon smiled. Rebecca took in the trio's running outfits.

"Are you starting early with New Year's resolutions?" Rebecca asked.

Before Clary could voice her confusion. Isabelle answered for her, "Yep! I'm whipping her into shape. My brother's just here because he has nothing else to do."

"Well, we better get going," said Clary, "But it was great to see you Simon." She gave him one last quick hug as they said their goodbyes.

The Shadowhunters began jogging off and Simon called out, "Don't forget to call me tonight!"

Clary laughed, "Have I ever?" she called back.

The three of them ran down to Central Park South and back to the Institute. By the time they were back on 96th street, Clary felt like her legs were made of jelly. They had run mostly in silence, speaking made impossible by the intensity of their pace.

Clary got back, showered and cleaned up to get ready for dinner.

She'd been eating mostly on her own, but tonight was a 'family' dinner to celebrate Michael's full recovery and Clary's last night at the Institute before Christmas.

Maryse had even cooked for them tonight. Her asparagus and eggplant lasagna seemed a bit unusual to Clary but it was Michael's favorite food. Apparently it was a traditional holiday food in Alicante and learning this made Clary ache to know the traditions of her people the way that the Lightwoods knew them.

The cake, though, was pretty close to traditional American birthday cake and was topped with three candles: one blue, one grey, and one green.

"They represent the Mortal Instruments," Jace explained, "the lake, the sword, and the cup. We use them to celebrate something if it seems that God has shown us his favor. Or that's what the original intention was, they're really only given to children nowadays."

He broke off as Maryse placed the cake in front of Michael. She announced, "Today, we celebrate that God has given back to us two Shadowhunters, Michael and Clary."

The other Lightwoods clapped as Michael blew out the candles. Clary smiled, it was a sweet scene even if it made her even more acutely aware of the awkward tension that waited for her tomorrow at home.

As everyone made their way to bed, Clary took another scorching hot shower before pulling on an oversized sweater and a clean pair of leggings before going to bed.

Clary tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. She tried to do some reading to further her Shadowhunter education, hoping that the ritual of reading at night could make her sleepy tonight like it always seemed to when she tried to study late at night.

She heaved an ancient tome off of her bedside and plopped it onto her bed, placing it in her lap to read it. She flipped it to a random page and began reading:

"Blood Runes: an ancient and banned rite. Once, before our father's fathers, blood runes were drawn by mages onto all Shadowhunters when they came of age. The secrets of the Great Mages have been lost over time though, and their dangerous rituals were banned after the Tragedy of 1432. Blood runes are most powerful when the blood used is purest and willingly given. Unwillingly given blood can cause the rune to turn on the owner, boiling their blood from the inside."

This was so not helping her relax, Clary thought, rubbing her hands over her face. She walked out of her room and decided to go make herself another cup of hot chocolate.

The Institute was dark and cold and Clary was grateful for her thick woolly sweater and socks. She thought she heard a creaking behind her as she stepped down the circling staircase. Clary froze, listening again to see if the sound repeated. When she heard nothing she clamored down the remainder of the stairs to get to the kitchen, wishing she had brought a flashlight, or at least a cell phone, with her.

She put another pot of water on the stove and pulled out a mug, cocoa, and marshmallows. She pulled out a stool at the kitchen island and tried to remember what books she had read in high school before going to sleep. She hadn't had trouble sleeping in years and her recent clean living had helped too. She supposed tonight was just an anomaly.

As she sat at the counter, Clary heard footsteps walking towards the kitchen. Grabbing a pan from the wall and hiding herself behind the counter Clary waited quietly, breathing silently through her mouth.

A voice called out, "Clary, I can still see the top of your head." It was Jace.

She stood up and put the pan away, "Could you please stop sneaking up on me in the kitchen?" she asked.

"My sincerest apologies," he answered drily, "I didn't realize I was sneaking up on you."

"I . . . you're right," she answered, "I've just been jumpy lately. I'm sure you understand why. Hopefully it will fade over time."

"It won't" he answered, "Fade, I mean. It will just become more subtle. The Invisible World demands constant vigilance if you'll forgive the reference."

"I will," she said, pulling out a second mug and mixing the now-boiling water with a second pack of cocoa.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked.

"No, I don't drink hot chocolate." He answered.

"Too bad." She handed him the second mug of hot chocolate.

He accepted it from her and hopped up onto the counter.

"So," Clary asked, "you can't sleep either?"

He looked confused.

"It's only 10:00 Clary."

Clary checked her watch. He was right.

"Oops. I guess I've been going to bed earlier with Isabelle starting training at 6:30 in the morning."

"Your body needs the rest. But no, I haven't been having trouble sleeping. Actually, I was looking for you."

"Oh," Clary sipped her hot chocolate, wincing as she burned the tip of her tongue, "Any reason in particular?" she asked.

"I have something I want to show you, actually. A bit of a Christmas present. Hope your boyfriend doesn't mind."

"My boyfriend?" Clary asked, confused.

"Simon?" he mimicked her tone.

Clary laughed.

"Simon is many things, but my boyfriend is not one of them."

"Does he know that?"

"Well, we had a pretty public break up in the tenth grade after dating for approximately 12 days so I would say yeah he probably knows that."

"Oh." Jace answered.

Clary looked at him curiously he seemed almost disappointed? Chastised? Embarrassed? When she realized what he had just told her though, Clary felt a rush of embarrassment herself.

"The only problem is that I didn't get you a present."

"This isn't a present," he said, "not really. Besides, you saved Michael, that's enough for the next five Christmases and birthdays."

It was too honest, that sort of vulnerability that only came out every once in a great while. It made her decide to avoid pointing out the fact that he had contradicted himself.

There was an awkward silence before he said, "Come on, we have to go to the practice room to see it." He noticed her glancing down at her unfinished hot chocolate before saying teasingly, "You can bring your cocoa if you want to."

Clary didn't answer. Just wrapped her hands protectively around her mug and followed him out of the kitchen, switching off the lights as they left.

She sped up to walk next to Jace as they walked down the hallway. An awkward silence descended upon them once more as they walked down the dark hallways.

Clary felt the cold begin to seep into her bones and longed for the warm blankets in her room.

She kept looking at Jace, he really did have a beautiful face. Why did all Shadowhunters seem so beautiful? Was it the angel blood? Clary didn't know, but being surrounded by the Lightwoods all the time was really giving her a warped perception of what the world looked like.

After a slightly longer walk than she was expecting, they arrived at the practice room and Jace presented her with a very long, very thin box. When he held it up in front of himself it was almost three times as wide as his torso.

"This looks," she said, "Like an extremely long necklace."

He smiled.

"I promise, it's not a necklace."

"Well that's a relief then."

She drained her mug of hot chocolate and set it down on a nearby table. She reached forward, unsure, and lifted the lid up, gasping as she did so. Inside the box was an incredibly ornate staff made of shining silvery metal and with ornate vines carved up and down the staff. At one end were three sharp points. One central blade flanked by two smaller ones, almost like a compacted trident.

She picked it up and found that it was surprisingly light. She twirled it in her left hand and slammed the dull end into the ground beside her, causing it to boom as she did so. Clary held it away from her and looked at it wonderingly.

"Yeah," Jace scratched, "I may have asked Magnus to put a couple upgrades onto it. A lot of them are practical but some of them are just plain dramatic. It's made of electrum and has a few spells engraved into it." He stepped closer to her to point them out.

"It's coded into your blood," at Clary's look Jace explained himself, "I got it off of your shirt from the night you saved Michael, and it means that the staff will only listen to you. This," he held up a piece of leather she hadn't noticed before, "will hold it onto your back. The bottom piece collapses so you won't accidentally hit any mundies with it when you activate the invisibility rune. It can sense your will to expand or collapse, any throw will be true to aim and most likely lethal. The spears at the end can move according to your will so that you can use it to—"

"To disarm your opponent," she answered, "Yeah I read about it."

"Isabelle mentioned that you like staffs."

"I do. I don't—I don't know what to say. Thank you Jace, this was a very thoughtful gift."

He took a step forward.

"Merry Christmas." he whispered.

He leaned closer and Clary could smell the hot chocolate on his breath. The soap on his skin. Feel the warmth from his body.

Clary closed her eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Jace." For a moment they stood She took a deep breath and took a step backwards.

"So, what do you say we take this guy for a test drive?" She took another step backwards and twirled the staff through both hands, like baton.

He smiled and shook his head, "I wouldn't want to undermine Isabelle's authority in your training. Pretty sure she'd kick my ass."

"I'm pretty sure she would too." Clary agreed.

Clary held up the staff and said, "Thanks again, Jace." She strapped the leather holder on and willed it to collapse, slightly surprised when it actually did obey her will. She put it into its holder on her back, testing out the feel of it.

"You're welcome." He said. He turned around to go before saying, "Do me a favor and take it with you when you go home tomorrow. It would make me feel a lot better."

She nodded and he turned around. She watched him walk out and the doors close behind him. After a moment of hesitation, Clary ran out into the hallway after Jace. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Merry Christmas" one last time before running to her room.

She slammed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, slightly embarrassed by the fact that she was acting like a twelve-year-old girl, burying her face in the pillow. Tomorrow would be tense, uncomfortable, but tonight had been perfect.

Little did she know, as she sat smiling like an idiot and embarrassed by her immature behavior, that the boy she was thinking of stood outside her door, his hand still on his cheek. He stared at the door for ten minutes before walking to his own room and closing the door.

"Merry Christmas indeed," He said to himself before turning out the light.

A/N: PURE fluff, mwahahaha. To those of you craving angst, don't worry it'll be here soon. Clary just needs some time to become a bona fide Shadowhunter. She'll be getting into danger in no time.

Coming up next: Christmas at home, more training, Clary goes back to school, and plot development!


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning** : If you are triggered by graphic violence or assault I would advise skipping this chapter, its contents will be reviewed in the next chapter in less graphic terms

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve morning, Clary woke up before sunrise and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. On her way out of her room Clary grabbed her gift from Jace, a weaponized staff which was more deserving of the word “scepter” or “trident” than staff.

She collapsed it and strapped it onto her back, pulling the blanket back on for warmth. She padded down the hallway outside her room on her way to the kitchen. She made herself a mug of tea, wondering briefly if she drank too many hot beverages, and headed over to the library.

She settled down in her favorite leather chair and opened up a book of fairy tales. One night in the library Hodge had said to her, “Everything you’ve heard is true.” It was a dramatic sentiment, but one that most Shadowhunters subscribed to. Subsequently the library was stocked with one of the most complete collections of mythological literature.

She was reading a story about a _sylphide_. The scrawled notes of a distant Shadowhunter indicated that _sylphide_ was another word for “fairy.”

It was fascinating, Clary thought, how so many cultures across the world had different names and explanations for the same creatures. How they believed that different creatures taught different lessons about things like generosity or greed.

She sipped her tea and continued reading. When the sun began to rise, Clary trekked back to her room to shower and get dressed. Today she was supposed to return to Brooklyn, but to be completely honest, she didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay in her four poster queen sized bed at the Institute in her pajamas and eat Christmas cookies.

But that wasn’t an option. She could either stay here, disappoint her mother, and endure another full day of training or she could go home, make nice with Mom, and have awkward meals of Chinese and pancakes. Besides, Clary didn’t really want to accidentally run into Jace after her impromptu goodnight kiss not twelve hours ago.

So she compromised by pulling on jeans and shoes, leaving on her big comfy sweater. She left the Institute and got on the train, occasionally checking to make sure that her staff was still strapped to her back.

It was awkward reaching behind herself, though, and Clary eventually pulled it out and placed it on her lap. She was careful to keep it compact to avoid smacking any of the train’s other occupants with the staff.

When she got to her apartment she stood outside of the door, taking a deep breath as she pulled out her key. She stuck the key into the lock and just as she was about to turn it, the door was pulled out of her grasp as her mother opened it inwards.

“Clary! Come in, come in! I’m making pancakes. Well, Luke’s making them, but I’m helping.”

Her mother had a smudge of flour on her nose and it was hard to reconcile this image of her, the picture of bohemian bliss with the reality that her mother had been born and bred as a Shadowhunter.

“Sounds great, Mom.”

“Come in, put your things in your room, and sit down. Let’s have some brunch!”

Clary went into her childhood room and it was strange to see that nothing had changed. Everything was exactly the way she had left it, but it all felt foreign. A quotation came to her.

_Nothing ever is as it was._

She couldn’t remember where she had read it or heard it.

She put her bag down, stashed her staff, took off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. She sat down at the counter as Luke slid a plate of pancakes in front of her.

“Here you go kiddo, you look good, if a little tired. How’ve they been treating you uptown?”

“Training’s been going great so far. Isabelle’s taken her role as my mentor pretty seriously. I don’t know how she’d feel about pancakes for breakfast though . . . especially after we had an _aronian_ cake.”

“ _Auronian_ ” Jocelyn corrected absent-mindedly before sitting up straight and looking Clary in the eye, “What was the occasion?”

“Michael, their youngest, was fully recovered from his attack.”

“The one you saved.” Luke remembered, “Robert filled me in while you two . . . talked in the other room.”

An awkward silence. Clary struggled to try and think of something to say.

“So Mom, Luke what have you guys been up to?”

And with that Jocelyn launched into a story about recent drama at her gallery. She’d opened it four years ago to show and sell local artwork. It had turned out to be a pretty profitable business, but some of the artists and many of the patrons had turned out to be _difficult_ characters to say the least.

The three of them spent the rest of the day inside. Luke even tried to make the first ever fire in their fireplace. After Clary had gone to college, the dam had finally broken and Luke and Jocelyn had admitted that they were in love. They hadn’t gotten married—what was the point? But Luke had moved in and converted his apartment at the bookstore into an office with plans for it to become part of the bookstore eventually.

Jocelyn popped _It’s a Wonderful Life_ into the DVD player and they spent the rest of the day watching Christmas movies and (unsuccessfully) trying to roast chestnuts.

It was nice, Clary thought, but it was also kind of, well, boring. She went into her room and reached into her bag to check her phone, but her hand came up empty. Clary felt a brief flash of panic checking her jacket and jean pockets but her phone was nowhere to be found. She must have left it at the Institute and wasn’t planning to return there until Boxing Day.

She sighed and told her mother of her predicament.

“Well,” her mother said, “I haven’t been back in years but I’m pretty sure that phones don’t work in Alicante and since you’re so bent on living as a real Shadowhunter maybe its best that you live without your phone.” Her tone was tinged with bitterness.

“Still I’d feel better if I had it with me. I still don’t understand how to fire-call someone.” Clary said.

“Well I can teach you that! There’s lots of things I can teach you.” Jocelyn brightened up slightly.

Clary smiled lightly, “I’d like that Mom.”

That night when they had all gone to bed (and left cookies out for Santa) Luke confronted Jocelyn.

“You’re drawing this out longer than you need to,” Luke said.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jocelyn answered.

“She knows, Jocelyn, she knows about Shadowhunters, about Alicante, demons, everything from our world except for you— who you are and who her father was.”

“Is” Jocelyn unconsciously corrected, “he’s not dead, he can’t be.”

“Even more of a reason!” Luke was vehement, “What are you going to do if he shows up one day, huh? What if she wants to go to Alicante? How will you explain how everyone reacts to her when she looks _just_ like you when you married Valentine?”

“I know!” she cried, louder then she meant to, “I know.” This time quieter. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“Good.” Luke answered kissing the corner of her mouth, “I’m proud of you.”

It was an old argument they had had many times and Luke was looking forward to it resolving itself.

The next morning after opening a couple presents and an early afternoon brunch Jocelyn and Luke sat Clary down on the couch. The couple sat facing her, holding hands.

“Clary,” Jocelyn began her voice measured and forced calm, “There’s something we have to tell you sweetheart.”

Clary looked at them, from one to the other and back again.

“Is this where you guys tell me you’re pregnant because this is really bad timing and I—“ 

No they weren’t reacting the right way, that couldn’t be it.

Clary redirected her course of questioning, “Unless . . . this has to do with what you said in the Institute, Mom? That there was ‘so much you still needed to tell me’?”

“The second one, Clary.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. You see . .  . I mean, of course your safety was the utmost importance when we were hiding you from the Invisible World. But there was another reason we left, something other than you that we had to hide. Something that was also . . . _precious_.

“There was a man named Valentine. He thought the Clave was corrupt, that it needed to be reformed. He was very charismatic; he drummed up support from other young people manipulating them into being loyal to him. But as popular as he was, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t achieve his goals without something extra. He began experimenting with power from demons, summoning them, drinking their blood. Still it was not enough. He had begun a war and many of our friends died in the uprising, Clary, but he didn’t stop.”

Jocelyn stopped, trying to pull herself together. She had been practicing this speech for years, had had an explanation rehearsed and ready, but it had all gone out the window. Her words were failing her. She collected herself and tried to explain from a different angle.

“You’ve learned about the Mortal Instruments, right Clary?”

Clary nodded.

“He began to collect them. When all three are held by one person: the Mortal Sword, the Mortal Mirror, and the Mortal Sword they can summon the angel Raziel. Though his intentions of destroying all demons were good, his mind had become corrupt from experimenting on himself.”

“He acquired the Mortal Cup and drank demon blood out of it. He even forced his son to consume it in the womb, destroying him and  later—” Jocelyn took a deep breath and tilted her head back trying to keep back tears.

She cleared her throat and started again.

“Later he began to drink angel blood out of it and he forced me to drink it too.”

Clary’s hand was over her mouth, but she was confused. This story was not coming together. It was incoherent.

“And I was so _sad_ after Jonathon was born a—a monster, practically dead in my hands. Shadowhunters don’t have a term for depression like humans do, Clary. I was catatonic, I let him do anything to me. It was only when I was pregnant with you that I left.”

Clary opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. Where could she even begin?

“Are you saying . . . are you saying that this man is my father?”

“Yes, Clary.”

“And I had—or have—a brother?”

“Had . . . he died in a fire, I’m sorry Clary. I left because I wanted to protect you, don’t you understand?”

No. She didn’t understand.

“And the man in the photo you always said was my father? Where did you even get that? Did you just buy it off of e-bay?”

“It was for a commissioned portrait.”

Clary felt like she was going to throw up. There was a buzzing in her ears and the world seemed to be swimming in and out of existence.

Clary walked into her room and slammed the door. Picking up her coat, staff, and wallet she stormed back through the kitchen.

As she walked by her mother Jocelyn grabbed for Clary’s arm, but Clary just swatted her off.

“I need some air,” Clary ground out, slamming the door behind her.

It was only when she stepped out into the stinging cold that she realized there were tears on her face. She pulled her jacket on and strapped down her staff, wiping the tears off of her face when her hands were free.

She began walking and didn’t stop. She didn’t stop when her face went numb or when a cabbie yelled at her for crossing against the light or even when the sun set behind her in the sky. She just kept walking in the cold, dark city.

Clary became aware that her feet hurt, aching metatarsals, split heels. But she kept walking. She only stopped walking when she realized that she had no idea where she was and there were no taxis in sight.

She pulled over to the side of the sidewalk and leaned against the building. She searched in her pockets for her phone, she needed Google Maps. Or Simon. Or Jace. Or Isabelle. Or anybody other than her parents to come, anyone who would understand and listen. But her pockets were empty. Right, her phone was still in the Institute. She sighed and leaned against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next.

Clary heard gravel crunching behind her and turned around.

There was a man, no, two men all in black their faces mostly covered by hoods and scarves walking towards her. Clary stepped away from the building and began walking away from them, speeding up as the sounds of their boots crunching got louder and louder.

This is ridiculous, Clary thought; even if they were thugs trying to scare her, her staff could put them down in no time. But if she was just being paranoid then she couldn’t randomly attack two men on the street because they gave her a bad vibe.

She kept walking and crossed the street, trying not to look behind at them and give herself away. She gave into the temptation anyways and looked behind herself.

The men had followed her.

Clary felt her heart rate pick up. She looked up and down the street but there was no one in sight.

She turned the corner and broke out into a run. The men ran behind her, she turned left, right, right, left, and finally into an alleyway where she saw a man standing there.

“Oh thank God,” she sighed. She had finally found another human; hopefully it would be enough to scare off her followers.

 “You’ve got to help me, these men have been following me for blocks and I—“

But the man didn’t look up. Clary heard skidding behind her as the two men entered the alleyway.

Clary reached behind herself and pulled out her staff and expanded it. She assessed her surroundings. She had annoyingly cornered herself _again_ , but there was a fire escape she could probably jump up to if she tried.

One of her followers opened his mouth.

“Aw look, Jay, seems like our kitty cat is getting a little scared.” He taunted, “Don’t worry baby don’t fight us and you won’t get hurt,” he pulled out a knife and ran the tip of his finger over it, “Well, maybe a little.” He smiled.

Clary looked back over at the hunched man who had finally turned around. He was clearly homeless and was muttering to himself. Schizophrenic, maybe? The homeless man started at the man holding a knife and began to scream.

The second man, Jay apparently, looked angry. “Shut up.” He pulled out a gun and Clary felt her heart rate continue to pick up as the homeless man put himself in between Clary and the thugs.

The homeless man did not stop screaming.

Jay moved forward with jerky movements, pointing the gun directly at the man, “I said _shut up!”_ But he didn’t shut up and the man pulled a long tube out of his pocket, methodically screwing it onto the end of his gun and pulled the trigger.

And now it was Clary screaming as blood and brains splattered all over her face and neck, vomiting suddenly another very real possibility.

But when she saw the man holding the gun was now pointing it at her, she stopped. She had thought that runes prevented gun powder from igniting; she had thought that guns didn’t work around Shadowhunters, but clearly they did. The evidence was lying at her feet.

“Good girl,” he said to Clary when she fell silent, “I guess we could still have fun with your corpse, but bodies get so cold so fast you know? And it would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face.”

He reached out and caressed her face with the barrel of his gun. Clary tried not to let her panic show.

He pulled away the coverings from his face and handed the gun to the other man, switching it out for the knife. The other man looked shell shocked, “Look man, you didn’t say nothing about _killing anybody_.”

“Shut the fuck up and hold the gun on her. You can go after me.” He turned to Clary, “Look bitch, we’re the ones with the weapons you do what we say or you die. That includes screaming. Now get on your knees.”

This couldn’t be happening, Clary thought, this was not her life. It was fucking Christmas and there was no one here to save her and there was a gun pointed at her head. Clary suddenly remembered the letter Isabelle had attached to her gift of a Seraph blade. A note she had written before she had even met Clary, before Clary had saved Michael or started training.

_Never forget: you don’t need to be saved, you are the hero of your own story._

It was corny and apparently from the lyrics of a song, but the words flashed through Clary’s mind and strengthened her will. She could do this; she just needed to wait for the right moment. She bent down, getting on one knee and picking up her staff where she had dropped it when the gun first went off.

“Good girl,” the shooter whispered as he crouched down beside her, “Now lie down.”

She did and when he had stretched his body over hers completely, covering her from the gun, she pulled up her staff, still invisible, positioned it near his head and willed the trident blades into a longer shape. All three tips melted into one long blade and she remembered again how amorphous electrum wire was and thanked Jace for his foresight. She pushed forward and the blade shot through his throat, in one side and out the other.

As blood began pouring out, the thug behind him panicked and shot at them. Just as she had hoped, the bullet went into her attacker and he stilled, dead. She pushed his body off of herself and picked up her staff, slamming the dull end into the ground.

The world boomed just as it had in the practice room with Jace and the ground shook, disorienting her still standing assailant who dropped his gun.

Clary sank the blades of her staff into her prostrate attacker one last time to make sure he would not get up again before advancing on the other man.

This man looked scared as he scrambled in the dark, looking for the gun he had dropped. Good, Clary thought to herself, I want him to be afraid as he dies, make him feel how out felt. The thought startled her and she must have hesitated just a second too long because suddenly he was standing and pointing the gun at her again.

“You killed Jay,” he said shakily, “How . . . how did you do that?”

She realized her staff was still invisible and decided to use it to her advantage.

“No, I didn’t. Do you see the bullet hole in his back? I don’t have a gun. But you do. You’re the one holding it. Kill me and you’ll be linked to three deaths. Leave now and I won’t tell anyone what happened here tonight.”

“Really?” His voice was shaking as he stepped backwards underneath a pool of light from above. She could see him better in this light and was surprised to see how young he looked. He could have been even younger than her. Just a kid.

“Yes, of course. I have a very jealous boyfriend. I don’t want him to find out about this either.”

He looked unconvinced. Clary mentally kicked herself that wasn’t a reasonable motive at all.

“Look, I just want to go home.” She tried

“Why? So you can turn me into the cops?” He was becoming hysterical. Clary wished she had taken more psychology classes.

“No, so I can forget that this ever happened.” That was at least partially true and he seemed to buy it.

“Yeah . . . yeah.” He turned around and began to walk out of the alley, his arm still outstretched at a ninety degree angle from his body, his arm still holding the gun.

She couldn’t let him leave like that.

Without making the decision to, Clary raised her right arm and threw her staff. It landed true to aim and all three of the prongs, restored back to their original shape, entered his back and exited through his chest He swung around to face Clary. The weight of the staff threw off his balance and he fell to his knees, blood coming out of his mouth.

He touched his left hand to his mouth and stared wonderingly at the blood there. She walked towards him to retrieve her staff and he gazed up at her with wide eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

“I couldn’t let you hurt anybody else.”

He coughed weakly and spattered more blood on Clary as she leaned forward to yank her weapon out of him.

With one last rattling breath he said to her, “Then you’ll understand why I have to do this.”

Before she could make out what he meant. There was a bang as his finger pulled the trigger and pain exploded in her chest. Clary thought she could feel her breast bone crack and splinter as the bullet made its way through her.

She fell on the ground for the second time that night. As she sputtered up blood and darkness closed in on her, Clary realized that she was going to die on cold pavement with her murderer beside her.

She thought she should be going numb by now, but the pain still ripped through her.She could feel the blood freezing on her skin and clothes as it continued to ooze out of her.

And then, nothing.

**A/N: Whoops this turned out darker than I meant it to, sorry about that. But things can’t get any worse, right? Right???**

**Next update will go up by Tuesday afternoon!**


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Simon threw his phone down on the desk before picking it up and hitting the redial button again. The dial tone sounded and he raked his hand through his hair compulsively.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Clary had promised to call him when he last saw her at the park the other day, but he hadn’t heard from her since then. Simon paced back and forth in his dorm before trying to call her again. He hadn’t needed to leave his dorm yet as his family didn’t celebrate Christmas. Putting away his phone, Simon decided that his first stop should be to go check her room here at school.

Braving the cold he went to her dorm and knocked down her door, then pounding it with an open palm. There was no answer until a girl down the hallways opened the door and told him to shut up.

“Wow, how creative.” She had closed her door, “At least you’re pithy! Know when you’re not wanted!” He called out anyways.

Simon pulled his laptop out of his bag and sat down in the middle of the hallway. He couldn’t go to the university security if this was some kind of supernatural mumbo jumbo bullshit. It’s not like they could help his magical half-angel friend if she had been kidnapped by witch doctors who meant to harvest her liver for the full moon.

Simon took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He would’ve slapped himself if he could, but his elbows had never been quite that dexterous. They had always been more pointy, sharp, and, well, elbowy.

He pulled up his programming software, thankful that he had upgraded his laptop and hacked the security system. Of course his classes never taught them how to actually _hack_ but when you learn how to weave the material software is made of, hacking was as simple as pulling at a loose string in an old sweater until it all unraveled for you.

After what felt like an hour, but was actually 2.17 minutes, Simon pulled up what he was looking for:

Clary Fray  
Student: Senior  
Last Swipe In: December 12, 2015 12:57:32 PM.

Right. So she hadn’t come back here since moving oh so casually into the Shadowhunter fortress on 96th and York.

Wait.

Why had Simon not thought of this earlier? One crosstown bus and three subway stops later Simon was walking up to a decrepit building.

It was just the way that Clary had described, _the glamour_ he realized. But, unlike Clary, he couldn’t scrape the glamour away. Steeling himself for a nest of ravenous vampires or malicious bogarts Simon walked up the steps and tried to wrench the door open.

Nothing happened.

Simon was getting really tired of this. His body repeated itself as he pounded on the doors to the Institute. No response. He walked around looking for an eye level window that he could peek into, but he was out of luck. He returned to the main door and began pounding and shouting.

“Hello? Hello! Someone please! Answer! I’m not leaving until I see Clary!”

Nothing. He continued shouting until his voice was hoarse and his mouth tasted coppery.

Finally, the door pulled open and, not for the first time today, an angry girl poked her head out of the door to glare at him. It was the girl from the park. Isabelle.

She glowered.

“What do you want?”

“Clary.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Clary’s at home with her family and if she wanted to see you, you would probably already know that.”

Simon was affronted.

“I _did_ know that, but I’ve been calling her cell phone and she hasn’t picked up.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything, she probably just forgot to charge it like she always does.” Isabelle unconsciously folded her arms across her chest.

“No, I haven’t spoken to her since the day before Christmas Eve. Have you?”

“No.”

“I think something’s wrong.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I am not _jumping_. There is no jumping going on here. I am taking a step from Point A to Point B that my accident prone friend who is a novitiate into all things supernatural and horrible has had some kind of terrible accident or been selected as a human sacrifice for the full moon.”

Isabelle raised the other eyebrow.

“Do you practice that?” Simon asked pointing awkwardly at his eyebrows, trying to push one up while he kept the other down. “Or does it come complimentary with the skeptic-tough-chick ™ upgrade that you downloaded?”

The eyebrows did not go down.

“Since you are a weak and defenseless mundane, I am going to ignore your gross insult against me and focus on helping you with your problem. Since I am, after all, sworn to protect vulnerable humans like you. And since I would hate to lose Clary after investing so much time in her . . .” she trailed off.

“Have you tried calling her house phone?” Isabelle asked suddenly, refocusing her attention.

“Her mom disconnected their home phone a couple years ago, she read online that it caused brain cancer.”

“Well she certainly sounds like she’s a couple sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“Don’t talk about Jocelyn like that.”

“Jocelyn, huh? What you got a crush on Clary’s mom too?”

“Don’t be crude. I have nothing but respect and platonic love for both Clary and her mother and her mother’s _boyfriend_. You only just met Clary, I’ve known her since we were both in diapers. She’s like a sister to me. You hardly know anything about her.”

“Woah there, lassie, you just sound jealous now. I’m not trying to steal your best friend.”

“I’m not jealous. Please stop antagonizing me so that we can focus on the task at hand.”

“Which is?”

“Finding Clary so we can determine whether or not she is actually in any sort of danger . . .?”

“Right. Well let’s check her room here first and then head out to Brooklyn if we can’t find anything here, alright?”

“Alright.” He pulled down his shirt as she opened the door wider for him, “Where is everyone?”

“Michael, the littlest one, wanted to see Alicante decorated for Christmas. It’s a big holiday for my people, I’m sure you can understand why.”

It was strange to hear Isabelle say “my people” un-ironically. She didn’t look like someone who hailed from a mother country. She looked like a New Yorker. Simon chastised himself for his close-mindedness.

He stepped inside of the cathedral and was awed by its beauty. He felt a welling up of some emotion in his chest and wasn’t sure what it was. Clary always talked about being “moved” by art. Getting aesthetic chills. Maybe he experienced that with architecture. A feeling of surrealism descended upon him. He had been hearing about Clary’s new world for weeks and had seen parts of it before, but this was the first time that he was actually becoming immersed in it.

He had to hurry up to catch up with Isabelle as she curved around the hallways. Finally after about fifteen minutes and too many staircases they came to Clary’s room.

“Clary?” Isabelle knocked.

The silence that followed was becoming too familiar. Simon felt hollow with disappointment as Isabelle opened the door to reveal that her room was empty. It was a beautiful room, straight out of a medieval romance novel, canopy bed, fireplace and all.

Simon absently thought that this was how he would have pictured Grimmuald Place to have looked in all its glory before it fell into disrepair, aside from the fact that it was mostly decorated in warm Gryffindor colors. Simon shook the Harry Potter themed musings out of his head and turned to face Isabelle.

“Brooklyn, then?” he asked.

“Yep. Quick stop here though.”

She walked the two of them to the armory and began arming herself.

“You need to bring something with you. Something small that you’re most comfortable with and have a low chance of accidentally hurting someone else.”

He looked through the weapons case before pulling out a long dagger. It had a hole in the top.

Isabelle caught him looking at the hole.

“That’s for your index finger to go through, gives you more control of the blade.” She threw him a belt so that he could sheath the dagger at his waist, “Good choice, by the way. That blade is poisonous to all creatures except humans.”

He nodded, the surrealistic feeling intensified.

The train ride was long and uncomfortable and they were only half way there.

Simon was bouncing his left leg up and down, a nervous habit. Isabelle looked over at him and his leg, trying to glare it into submission.

When he didn’t get the message, she put his hand on the top of his thigh and Simon jumped slightly in his seat. She didn’t move her hand

“She’ll be alright.” It was the first time Simon had seen her look earnest.

“We’ll find her,” she gave his leg a squeeze and looked directly into his eyes, “I promise.”

She didn’t move her hand for the rest of the trip. And though it should have made Simon even more jittery and anxious, it didn’t. It was as if her confidence and calm were flowing through her finger tips and into him. He drew on her strength and hoped it was enough.

When they walked up to the Fray (Fairchild?) apartment door Simon raised his hand to knock and then lowered it. Somehow understanding his fear of hearing nothing again or worse, finding the apartment to be evidence of an attack, Isabelle knocked for him.

Nothing.

And then, something.

First foot steps. The door opened.

“Jocelyn!” Simon exclaimed, “Have you seen Clary?”

The older woman’s forehead crinkled as she furrowed her brow.

“Simon, I was actually just about to call _you_.” She looked to Simon’s left to see Isabelle, “Or you Isabelle. I was hoping Clary just went back to the Institute.”

Simon felt all of the blood drain out of his face.

“I don’t understand.” His tone was flat, hollow.

Jocelyn wrapped her dressing gown tighter and hugged herself. Luke walked up behind her.

“Clary and her mother had a bit of a fight, Clary stormed out and we haven’t heard from her since.” Luke explained.

Simon could feel a panic attack coming on.

“What do you mean? How could you just let her go? And you’re just standing here in your pajamas like you don’t care? Have you even _tried_ looking for her? What you’re too busy eating brunch while Clary could be bleeding out in a ditch somewhere? Couldn’t you use your super magical, hyper werewolf nose to sniff her out?” He was half-screaming by now and Isabelle took a hold of his arm to calm him down.

He would later reflect that Isabelle had seemed uncharacteristically compassionate that day. But that was just how Isabelle operated. She knew where the line between sarcasm and cruelty lay and, besides, it was hard to snark with your body when you wanted to comfort.

Isabelle turned him to look at her, “We’ll find her.” She repeated and Simon nodded.

Isabelle turned to look at Jocelyn and Luke: “Get dressed and armed. Werewolf, scent Clary and get ready for a hunt. I need to fire-call my family and tell them what’s going on. Simon, go into Clary’s room—look for her phone, wallet, anything else that might suggest where she went. Everyone meet back here ASAP.”

Part of Simon’s mind told him that he should make a joke about women who took charge, but he was far too shaken up to find the innuendo hidden in the situation. Instead he did what she asked and went into Clary’s bedroom.

It felt wrong to be in Clary’s room when she wasn’t there. It was unsettling to disturb her things. Suddenly he was struck by thoughts of teenage rooms that parents turned into shrines when their children died too soon. Simon rubbed his hands over his face trying to block out the poisonous thoughts, but it was difficult.

There were no clues, no hints. She had even left her computer there. He knew her password. She’d used the same one for years and used it on all of her accounts. There was nothing out of the ordinary, mostly spam and list serve emails. The “Merry Christmas!” emails seemed offensive and inappropriate.

Simon closed the door to Clary’s room, feeling like he was sealing off the door to a tomb.Isabelle was standing in the doorframe to the apartment when Simon left Clary’s room.

“Anything helpful?” she asked.

Simon sighed and tried not to let desperation overwhelm him.

“No.” He ground out.

She grimaced. “I left a message for my parents. They’re out, but hopefully they’ll come back when they get the message.”

Simon was glad that she didn’t start in again on the platitudes. They were beginning to wear thin on him. Jocelyn and Luke followed the two of them out of the building and they began following.

Luke was having a hard time. He would occasionally catch her scent and then lose it on a crosswalk or by a trashcan and would have to circle the block to pick it up again.

It was a horribly onerous process.

After three hours of watching Luke take random lefts and rights and doubling back, he perked up.

“She must be within three blocks!” He yelled.

The four began searching anew, Simon was unconvinced.

He sidled up to Luke, “How can you be so sure?” Simon asked him.

“Her scent is so strong, she must be here.”

Simon tried not to dismiss him, but had a hard time not rolling his eyes and sped up out of Luke’s line of sight so that Luke wouldn’t see.

As he sped ahead, Simon could see a group of people being pushed back by policemen half a block ahead. They were trying to get a glimpse inside an alleyway wrapped up in police tape.

A crime scene, Simon realized. He broke out into a run, pushing past bodies as he struggled to make his way to the front of the crowd.

The scene before him was like one out of a horror movie. The bodies had been removed, but the evidence of death had not. Chalk outlines showed where bodies had lain and blood stained practically half of the alleyway. It was splattered against the walls, smeared on the ground, and Simon had to look away before he threw up.

He stumbled to a garbage can, hunched over it and emptied his stomach’s contents into the black bag. The others had caught up. Jocelyn put a hand over her mouth.

Her eyes welled up and she turned towards Luke, “Please tell me that’s not my baby’s blood in there.”

He said nothing and she seemed to break inside.

“Please.” She whispered.

All Luke said in response was, “I’m sorry Jocelyn.” She collapsed into him and he hugged her tight repeating, “I’m sorry.”

Only Isabelle maintained her composure and Simon was forcefully reminded of Joan of Arc. Isabelle was a warrior and this was probably not the first time she had seen death. Nor the last.

She walked up to him with a blank face. Simon didn’t know if her neutral expression meant.

“There’s no body. No body means she might not be dead.” He tried, desperate.

She smiled a small, sad smile.

“Simon, they’ve moved the bodies.”

Simon steeled himself and walked up to a policeman.

“Excuse me officer, I think my friend may have been involved in this accident. Please, were there any survivors?”

“Move along, civilian, this is an active crime scene. I can’t answer any of your questions, it would impede the investigation.”

Isabelle turned up the waterworks and asked, “Please, Sir, she’s my sister. Clary Fray,” Isabelle held a picture up of her, “Please just tell me if she’s alright.”

Swayed by Isabelle he answered, “There was a girl, I can’t remember what she looked like though, and they took all the bodies, alive and dead, to Beth Israel. If your sister was here last night, she’s there today. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

* * *

 

When they got there, the hospital was cold and quiet. Thankfully, Jocelyn had her ID that proved she was, in fact, Clary Fray’s mother. The woman at the desk insisted, for some unfathomable reason, on giving Jocelyn a difficult time anyways before finally informing her that Clary was alive and in surgery.

Simon would have expected Jocelyn to collapse again from the news, but instead she exploded in rage.

“How _dare_ you not call me? I am her mother! Her only living relative! You just put her into surgery without anyone in the world even realizing that she is injured!”

“With all due respect _ma’am_ your daughter is an adult. It’s not my, or anyone else’s responsibility to call you when your daughter gets an ouchie. Now move along please, there are people waiting behind you.”

The receptionist shooed Jocelyn away with a dismissive hand gesture and Isabelle responded with a rather rude hand gesture of her own.

Together the four of them went upstairs to the appointed waiting room. A nurse came out to tell them that there was no news at the moment. Clary had suffered a gunshot wound to the chest and would be in surgery for several hours.

As the nurse walked out of the room, Jace and Alec walked in. Isabelle introduced Alec to Simon and they shook hands while Jocelyn explained the situation to the two newcomers.

“But what the hell happened?” Jace asked, “How did she wind up getting shot? Runes are supposed to prevent gun powder from igniting.”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Isabelle responded turning towards Jocelyn and Luke, “What matters is that Clary is gravely injured and she needs a healer, not a mundane one, a proper one.”

“I’ll call Magnus.” Alec offered, stepping aside to dial a number into his phone.

“Magnus?” Simon asked.

“My boyfriend.” Alec mumbled.

“And a centuries old warlock capable of legendary acts and magical powers.” Jace added.

“Yeah well he feels bad about sapping Clary’s memories for twenty something years so I’m sure he’d be happy to make it up to her.” Alec explained.

“Wait, you’re dating Clary’s mind rapist?” Simon asked.

“Don’t call him that, but yes.” Alec stepped aside and put the phone up to his ear.

“Wait, wait.” Simon said, “We can’t just sneak him into the operating room. And you can’t use more magic to explain it away, there’s cameras and paperwork and loads of people, you’ll just have to trust the mundane doctors until she’s out of surgery and then you can heal her. OK?”

“And what if they just make it worse?” Jace asked.

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Well I’ve been depending on mundane medicine for twenty-two years and it’s worked out so far.” Simon’s voice was taking on a sarcastic edge.

“Have you ever suffered a gunshot wound?” Jace asked.

“. . .No”

“And you still haven’t turned out that well.”

Simon’s eyes flashed and he took a step towards Jace.

“Enough.” Alec hung up the phone and stepped in between Jace and Simon. “Enough. We’re here to help Clary. Simon’s plan is a solid one. We wait for her to get out of surgery; Magnus can heal her once she’s in a private room. He’ll be here in a couple hours.”

“This is bullshit.” Jace swore, “Those barbarians could kill her in there.”

Luke came forward and took Jace by the elbow, “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are the only one here who cares for Clary” he said firmly.

Jace nodded and pulled his elbow out of Luke’s grasp, his face tight.

Jocelyn, who had been speaking with a nurse again, returned to the group. Her face was stained with tear tracks and Luke moved to put his arms around her.

“Any news?” Isabelle asked quietly.

“She’s stable. She’ll be in surgery for at least three more hours. Apparently she was _mugged_ ” she spat the word out, “But she fought back and they shot her. Some Good Samaritan found her and called 911. But when she wakes up she needs to make a statement to the police because there were three other men in the alley. And the men were all dead. If the ambulance had come ten minutes later, Clary would have bled out too.”

“Police?” Alec asked “No, we need to start doing damage control as soon as possible. I’ll contact the Clave.”

“No!” Jocelyn said, “Please, you can’t. They still don’t know who Clary is. Please, they’ll lock her up just to get to Valentine.”

“Not so loud.” Luke gently reminded her, “We are in a public place.”

“Fine,” Alec acquiesced, “But it’s going to take longer to have Magnus modify all of their memories.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Simon said, “Clary only defended herself. For all we know, she walked into the scene trying to prevent the murders. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Jace looked uneasy. “Once the statement goes into the system it will be _very_ difficult to change it without the Clave’s help.”

“It’s our best bet. We have to have faith in Clary, believe that she was innocent.” Simon decided

And so they waited. Precisely two hours later, a man in an oversized hat and blackest black eyeliner arrived. Magnus, Simon presumed, as he went straight to Alec and kissed him reassuringly.

Magnus reasserted the offer of altering the witnesses’ memories. They explained the situation to him and he nodded gravely.

“Right then, well she should be getting out of surgery in three quarters of an hour.” Magnus said, “You two,” he pointed at Luke and Jocelyn, “get her some of her own clothing, she’ll want to be dressed comfortably and I’m guessing what she was wearing when she came in has been shot to pieces, no pun intended. You,” he pointed at Jace and handed him a slip of paper, “go get me these from the apothecary two streets over, you know the one. You two,” now he pointed to Simon and Isabelle, “Go to the grocery store, get food and drinks. This hospital food is terrible and we’ll all need our strength today.”

They all did as they were told, shocked into obedience by Magnus’ commanding tone. Simon was reminded that, maybe aside from Alec, Magnus was the only one who didn’t have an emotional connection Clary. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, Simon thought, Magnus had known Clary since she was a little girl. Maybe living for hundreds of years taught you how to keep calm in the face of disaster. Yes, that must be it, Simon thought, the wisdom of age.

Isabelle and Simon were silent save for the sounds of cars and sirens passing them as they walked down the street.

There was a small store across the street and they walked in side by side. Simon walked through the aisles blindly picking up packages and putting it into a basket.

Isabelle stopped him and took the basket, inspecting its contents.

“Spaghetti, marshmallows, and cabbage?” Isabelle asked, “Exactly what delicacy do you have planned for us this afternoon Master Chef Lewis?”

He stared at her.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?” she asked.

“You know what.” He answered, his eyes beginning to sting, his throat closing, “Act like there’s nothing wrong, like we’re just shopping for a fucking picnic.”

Isabelle wanted to snap at him, but he was close to tears and his sad boyish face plucked at her heartstrings.

She put down the basket and wrapped her arms around him. Maybe she was being too forward, but kind words had never been Isabelle’s strong suit. She could use her words to cut, but not to heal. She took a deep breath and tried to think of an acceptable response.

She wanted to tell him what it was like to be a Shadowhunter, make him understand what it meant to expect the worst possible thing every time she got a phone call from a family member. To be prepared for death at every corner. Instead all she could say was:

“Because I have to.”

They stood there like that for a few minutes, embracing in the dry goods aisle, before Isabelle stepped back. She ran her hands up and down his arms as if she could infuse energy into him with friction.

“Come on” she said, “Let’s get some sandwiches.”

They picked up an assortment of sandwiches, chips, cookies, and other snack foods that didn’t need to be heated, thawed, chopped, peeled or any other sort of preparation.

By the time they arrived back in the waiting room, everyone else was standing while Jocelyn spoke to another nurse.

“She’s out of surgery,” Alec explained to Simon and Isabelle as they walked up to the group.

Jocelyn thanked the nurse and walked over to the group.

“She’s out, but she’s not awake yet.”

Magnus activated his invisibility rune, collected his equipment from Jace, and went into the room to begin his work on healing and waking Clary. Isabelle, as the only member of the group with healing experience activated her invisibility rune as well and went to assist him.

Jocelyn and Luke followed, allowed to enter her room normally as Clary’s “parents.”

Simon, Jace, and Alec remained in the waiting room. Finally Jace cracked, activated his invisibility rune as well and, without a word, went into Clary’s room.

Alec sat on the couch and said nothing.

“This is ridiculous.” Simon said to Alec.

“This is the life of a Shadowhunter.” Alec answered, “It’s messy.”

“But necessary.” Simon’s voice was unsure.

“Yes.” Alec answered, “More than most people realize.”

A beat.

“So” Simon tried, “How was Alicante? And where’s Michael?”

“Alicante was nice, thank you for asking, and we decided that Michael had been traumatized enough as it was in the past month so we left him at the Institute with Hodge when we portaled back.”

“What’s the deal with that guy? Clary’s mentioned him, he sounds like a hermit.”

Alec’s jaw clenched. He went to tell Simon exactly what was what when Jocelyn came out of Clary’s room.

“You can come in, boys, she’s alright.” Jocelyn smiled obviously relieved.

“I’ll wait here.” Alec offered.

Simon made no such offers and went directly into Clary’s room.

Her room was bleached white like the rest of the hospital. There were two other beds in the room, but they were empty. Magnus had pulled one of the extra beds up to use as a makeshift workbench. Only now was he beginning to pack up his potions and tools.

Clary had pushed herself upright, leaning against the pillows.

“Si” she weakly reached out her left hand towards him and he grasped it tightly, fighting back tears again.

“Clare” he smiled, “You’re alright.”

“Of course, takes more than a hunk of metal to get rid of me.”

Light laughter rippled through the room as everyone crowded around Clary’s bed.

“As heartwarming as this is,” Magnus began, “You need to get your story straight, Clary. What happened?”

She thought of what happened, the man who died protecting her, the man who died attacking her, and the man she tried to kill and who had returned the favor. Her head swam.

“I don’t know. . .” She said. She did know, but she didn’t want to share, it was too much. She was responsible for the deaths of three men. Three _human_ men.

“Well here’s what you’ll say: two men were attacking a homeless man, you intervened and got shot. Wrong time, wrong place OK? Whatever you say to the policemen, make it as simple and close to the truth as you can. No making up details, it needs to be believable and you need to be able to repeat it without screwing it up.”

“Alright,” Clary said, “Alright. . .Wait, my staff. I-I used it, do you know where it is? Did they lock it up as evidence?”

“Nope.” Jace answered, popping the ‘p’ in his answer, he held up the compressed staff, “I got this off the crime scene earlier. They still couldn’t see it. You never removed the invisibility rune. It’s covered in blood though Clary, whatever happened, either you killed someone or a non-mundane used your staff.”

“Or you were attacked by non-mundanes who could see it.” Simon offered.

Clary knew this was untrue. She remembered the feeling as she drove the staff through the first man’s throat and the second man’s chest. She shuddered.

Just then her friends and family were shooed out by a nurse as two detectives entered the room.

“Clary Fray?” They asked.

“Yes.”

They introduced themselves and took down Clary’s statement. She tried to follow Magnus’ advice being as general as possible while extricating herself from any dangerous positions. If she was charged with anything, self-defense should be acceptable. Still, she told them that her memory was foggy. She remembered two men attacking a screaming homeless man, she stepped in to help, but they shot him. There was a struggle and she didn’t remember anything else.

They seemed happy enough with her explanation and they both give her their cards in case she remembered anything else. She watched as they walked out of her room, watched until their identical black suits faded from view.

Clary took a deep breath and opened her dressing gown, alone for the first time since the attack. Magnus had taped the bandaging back over her chest wound to avoid suspicion, but she knew there was nothing there anymore just white scar tissue. She picked up her clothes from home, grateful that her parents had brought them to her. She pulled on her clothes and gathered her things, walking into the waiting room.

“Clary!” her mother exclaimed. The men all rushed forward to help her as she stumbled.

Jace caught her before she could fall and picked her up bridal style. Clary could feel the drugs (potions?) beginning to kick in as she reached up and cupped his jaw with her hand, “My knight in shining armor,” She whispered as he gently carried her back to bed and pulled the covers over her prone form.

The next time Clary woke up, Simon was sitting in a chair next to her bed. Their hands were linked on the edge of the bed and he was fast asleep, his feet tucked under him and his neck crooked so that his head rested on the chair back.

She smiled at the familiar sight. Simon didn’t fall asleep in strange places that often, but whenever he did it was always in a bizarre position. Isabelle sat beside him, also sleeping. She was smaller and fit into the chair a bit better, her head resting on Simon’s shoulder.

She probably should have let them sleep, but instead she squeezed Simon’s hand and watched him wake up.

“Guys!” he called, “She’s awake!”

“What day is it?” Clary asked as her parents came into the room.

“The 28th Clary, it’s only been a few hours since you came out of surgery.” Luke answered, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel good, not quite as woozy as before.”  Clary answered.

“Yes,” Isabelle said with disdain, “Turns out your fainting spell was not because of your injury but rather because of some drug those barbaric healers gave you to numb the pain. Obviously you don’t need it now though, healed properly as you are. Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes.” Clary answered sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Jocelyn put her hands up, “Don’t be so careless Clary. You were just seriously injured you need to take it easy for a few days. I think even walking up the stairs at home would be detrimental to your recovery.”

Clary looked between her parents and her friends, “Actually Mom I was planning on going back to the Institute.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Jocelyn stood up and smoothed out her crumpled shirt, “Well then we should get you uptown and back in bed.” She pulled out a wheelchair and Luke helped her into it.

Apparently the Institute did own a car, one of the perks of having multiple underground levels in your building in the middle of Manhattan that Jace had gone to retrieve. He pulled it up to the curb of the hospital. Clary, Alec, Magnus, Isabelle, and Simon got into the huge car. Jocelyn and Luke waved goodbye as it pulled away, getting in a cab to go back to their apartment. Jocelyn felt uneasy, but knew that she had to let Clary make her own choices. She sighed and let Luke steer her home.

Back in the car, Clary had already fallen asleep. Again.

It seemed that the medication had not quite worked its way out of her system. With some teamwork and not a little bit of magic, they managed to put her to bed without waking her up again.

Magnus wrote two sets of instructions: one for Clary’s bedside table and one for Isabelle who would be in charge of her when Alec and Magnus left the Institute for Magnus’ apartment.

Clary would be fine, she just couldn’t do any strenuous training for five days and she needed to consume plenty of liquids.

Clary woke up at 4:37 in the morning, wide awake after sleeping so much after the past two days. She read Magnus’ instructions that he had set out for her. It was not as restricting as she had expected. She decided to go for a walk through the hallways and ended up, again, in the library. She sat in a window seat on the second floor of the library looking out of the window onto the river to watch the sunrise.

It was burning and beautiful and reminded her of Jace. Jace, she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet and he still had her staff. Well, the staff that he had given her. She wondered if he had cleaned the blood off of it yet or if it still stained her staff red. The only evidence of her kills.

She wondered if Simon had stayed in the Institute. If he had slept in Isabelle’s room. She hoped not. Not out of any jealousy, but out of a kind of selfishness. Of course she wanted Simon to be happy, and she could definitely see Isabelle making him happy, but right now he wanted him to herself.

He knew her better than anyone, including her mother, and only he would understand how she was feeling right now. It was so hard to articulate—detached? Numb? Hollow?

There were warring ribbons of guilt and pride weaving their way through her every time she thought of how she had killed those two men. Proud because she had held her own, tricked one even, and taken two criminals off the street. Guilty that she could kill without remorse. What kind of monster did that make her? She was supposed to fight monsters, not become one.

She shook her head and cracked the window open, hoping that the cold air washing over her would clear her mind. It did help a bit, but it was not enough. She decided to get dressed and go searching for Simon.

It was useless, of course. The Institute was huge and they could have put Simon in any room. Hell, he could have gone home for all she knew. So, instead, she returned to her room. As she entered it, she looked over to her bureau and realized that her long lost phone had been sitting there the whole time.

Incredibly, it still held a charge. She turned it on and it flashed:

57 Missed Calls  
23 Voicemails  
34 Messages

Most were from Simon. A couple from Isabelle, her Mom, and the “unknown” number—Jace. She really needed to get his real number. As she went through the messages, deleting them she was struck by how lucky she was to have so many people in her life who cared so deeply for her. She was truly blessed. It was a very Christmas-y feeling, even if had come about in an odd way and three days too late.

How could she show her gratitude though? It’s not like there was an opportunity anytime soon to show them. Well how would her parents show her that they loved her?

So she went back to her favorite kitchen and began pulling out the necessary ingredients only wincing occasionally when she had to reach too high.

Just as she was about to start pouring the batter onto the griddle, she heard tiny footsteps pattering their way to the kitchen.

She smiled to herself and turned around when she heard a tinny voice exclaim; “Pancakes!”

Michael stood across the kitchen, smiling his megawatt smile and reminding Clary sharply of a miniature version of Jace.

He walked up to her, a bit shyer now, “Clary” he said, struggling with the ‘r’ in her name as he yawned, “Are you making me pancakes for my breakfast?”

“I’m making everyone pancakes! Do you want to be a big helper?”

He nodded eagerly.

“Well,” she handed him an old carton of berries and two bowls, “Can you go through those and put the good berries in one bowl and the bad ones in another?”

He nodded and went straight to work, sitting on the floor in his footsie pajamas behind Clary while she poured batter and flipped the pancakes.

This is exactly how Jace found them not five minutes later. He stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to be as quiet as he could. He was grateful that Clary had not progressed too far into her training yet. If she had she would’ve been aware of his presence and probably would have stopped doing the horribly embarrassing dance that she did as she hummed to herself and Michael.

As it was, she did not notice him standing in the doorframe, smiling. He pulled his phone out, put it on silent, and snapped a few pictures of Clary and Michael before announcing his presence.

“Smells good,” he intoned, “But I think one or both of you should still be in bed . . .”

Clary jumped and turned around, still holding a wooden spoon as she did so, spilling a bit of batter on the floor.

“Jace!”

He wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, he did live there after all. Before he could think too hard on it though, Michael called up to him from the floor.

“Jacie! He reached upwards with both hands and motioned that he wanted to be picked up. Jace complied, pretending that Michael was much, much heavier than he really was.

“When did you get so big?” Jace asked.

“Last night!” Michael answered sticking his tongue out.

“So sassy!” Jace smiled as he adjusted Michael on his hip, “you’ve been spending too much time with Isabelle.” Jace decided.

Michael just giggled and buried his face into Jace’s chest. The sweetness was almost overwhelming and Clary was glad that she had her pancakes to turn back to.

“Clary says I’m her big helper!”

“Is that why you’ve put the raspberries in one bowl and the rest in another?” Jace asked.

“Clary said to put the good berries in one bowl and the bad ones in another! I _hate_ raspberries.”

“Not exactly what I meant by ‘bad berries’ but I still appreciate the effort.”

Michael frowned.

“Am I still your big helper?”

“You sure are.” Clary confirmed, “If you want to be an even _bigger_ helper you two could go let everyone know that breakfast is ready. How about that?”

“OK!” And like a rocket, Michael shot off into the hallway.

Jace shared a look with Clary that was probably supposed to be exasperation but came across as fondness more than anything.

While they were gone, Clary set the table with a pretty patterned white and blue cloth and matching china. She arranged the different types of pancakes and set out coffee and juice. Worried that everyone might not like pancakes, Clary fried up some bacon and eggs too.

She was very proud of herself. Though she was many things, domestic was not one of them. She couldn’t make many meals, but breakfast she could do. And she could do it spectacularly.

She might have turned their lives upside down and stolen them from Alicante when they were supposed to be enjoying Christmas vacation, but at least she could give them the best breakfast they had ever had.

As she sat down with the Ligthwoods and Simon, Clary felt relaxed, and only a little sad that her mother and Luke didn’t fit into this happy picture.

* * *

 

A/N: And we’re over 30K words! This was the longest chapter so far but a bit of a filler, I promise more action is on the way.

Sorry for uploading a day late, I plan to try and keep writing frequently over the next two weeks so the next update should be up soon.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Clary sat on her perch in the library, slowly drinking a cup of hot cocoa. Soon, she thought, it would be too warm out to drink hot cocoa. Did the Institute have air conditioning? Because if it didn’t then she needed to find a new morning ritual. Clary pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed, wondering when the Institute had become such a sanctuary for her, reflecting back on the first time she come here.

Well actually, the first time she had been dragged unconscious and unwilling so she didn’t exactly _remember_ that, but she remembered waking up in the infirmary to this strange, unfamiliar place and now she slept here every night.

Clary felt that she had practically lived an entire lifetime during the December of her Senior year—she had found a new identity, purpose, loved ones, even been shot! But January had signaled a new year and something close to normalcy.

It was now May and the case against her had been firmly closed and justified as self-defense. Even though the forensic detective felt confused over the unusual stab patterns in her attackers, no one came close to guessing the truth, which was that she had been carrying around an invisible collapsible trident. Instead they wrote it off as a byproduct of the homeless man’s schizophrenia and that Clary was just lucky to be alive.

The frozen ice and snow in the city had thawed and melted into the ground below them. Clary felt that the overwhelming amount of information she had learned over Christmas break was something like that too. An iceberg of inaccessible information that she was slowly digesting, allowing it to melt and sink into her mind.

She had continued her training with Isabelle and was finally beginning to see some actual improvement. She could run without feeling like she was dying and had even beat Isabelle in a sparring match once! Granted Isabelle had been sick with a cold, but it still sort of counted, right?

Things with Jocelyn and Luke had existed in an uncomfortable tension. She loved her mother. She knew she loved her mother, but she also knew that she didn’t know anything about her mother.

That was something they had tried to work on together.

It had been . . . awkward when Jocelyn had insisted on coming into the Institute to train her daughter. Jocelyn was, frankly, out of shape and not able to train her daughter the way Isabelle was.

Maryse was still, clearly, uncomfortable around Jocelyn and Luke and, generally, they tended to avoid each other. Which had turned into Clary also avoiding Luke and Jocelyn. Luke was, mostly, innocent just a man in love, but her mother had many so many poor choices and truthfully Clary didn’t even know how to make it right.

Her mother was a criminal.

And not an overdue parking ticket criminal or even an embezzler, she had helped to begin a _war_ her father had been a violent tyrant who, apparently, was still alive.

What would Jocelyn have done if Valentine had found them when Clary was a little girl? They would have both probably died or at least been kidnapped. At least if her mother had faced her crimes and made Clary a ward of the state in Alicante, Clary would have been protected. Finally there was the matter of the Mortal Cup, her mother had stolen it and never returned it, afraid to do so. And now Shadowhunter populations were suffering because of it. Clary knew where it was, just in case, her mother had given it to her in March and Clary had tucked the card away in the Institute under a floorboard. She felt it was safer here than in a dingy apartment in Brooklyn.

Her mother had, frankly, been irresponsible and reckless in her decisions and Clary didn’t know how she had survived.

After classes had been back in session had had the excuse of going to classes uptown to avoid going home to Brooklyn. Now, though, it was May and she was graduating. She had to make a choice and no one else could make it for her.

Clary sighed again, how much deep thinking could one possibly do before 8 AM on a Saturday? She took a long sip from her mug.

Her sensitive Shadowhunter ears perked up when she heard the patter of bare feet on the floors behind her.

“Good morning Jace.” She offered

He skulked into view, disappointed, “How’d you know it was me?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged, “Sounded like you.”

He frowned.

“I was trying to sound like Isabella.”

“Well I guess you’ll have to try harder next time. And why would you want me to think you were Isabella?”

This time, it was Jace who shrugged.

They sat in silence. Jace sat down at the other end of the rather long window seat, facing Clary. She wondered if their feet would touch if she untucked her legs and stretched them out like he had.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked.

“Do you know if people actually did that?” she wondered aloud, “Like I could tell you anything and you would still have to give me a penny because you can’t prove I was thinking about something else.”

“Very insightful.”

“. . .”

“But you still avoided my question. What has you up so early?”

“I always get up this early.”

“Something’s bothering you, I can tell. So come on, humor me, penny for your thoughts etc I actually do have a penny if you would like one, he dug around his pocket and pulled out a coin. Or rather, I have a nickel but that should be even more incentive for you to share your thoughts with me.”

“Oh, I was just wondering what Alicante was like. It bothers me that we have a homeland that I’ve never been to before.”

“OK now you’re just lying to me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Fine. What’s my tell?”

“Yeah but you only do that mug-holding, street-gazing, scrunched up confused puppy look when you’re thinking deep thoughts. And not taking a summer vacation once every few years to the motherland does not warrant such an expression.”

She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips at his description.

“Exactly!” He pointed at her face while she tilted her head and looked at him skeptically, “Exactly like that! So out with it already, something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is.”

“Why?” she asked

“Why what?’

“Why do you want to know what’s bothering me?”

“So we can fix it.”

“What if we can’t?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. Has there been anything we _haven’t_ been able to fix these past five months?”

“Just my relationship with my mother.”

Jace sighed. Clary was right, that was something he couldn’t fix. He’d been trying to fix and distract since December but there was only so much he could do. His own face was screwing up in contemplation as he tried to find the perfect thing to say when suddenly both Shadowhunters’ ears perked up at the sound of a third set of feet pitter-pattering their way towards them.

Jace smiled, he might not be able to distract her, but he knew someone who could.

They both watched as Michael struggled up the spiraling staircase whose steps were just a little bit too steep for him to comfortably climb.

He marched over to Clary and matter of factly demanded to be seated in her lap. She laughed and obliged, picking him up and hugging him.

Jace’s smile only widened. Since she rescued his life, the two of them had developed a surprisingly close bond. Then again, Jace knew firsthand that Mrs. Lightwood was not always the most maternal to her non-biological wards and her daughter was certainly no different.

Aside from them and the occasional visitor, Clary was the only female Shadowhunter Michael knew and like a duckling he seemed to have imprinted upon her.

He would never admit it, but Jace loved these moments, just the three of them. At the same time though, it also scared him. It was a happiness that made him vulnerable two more weaknesses he would protect with his life. He both wanted Clary to be capable of defending herself (finally!) and was terrified of the idea of her going on patrols and missions.

Michael had gone quiet and closed his eyes, causing Clary to look outside and get that ridiculous scrunchy-puppy look on her face again. Jace decided to test the waters.

“So . . . you’re graduating soon.” He ventured.

“Yes. I am.”

“So that’s happening.”

“Do you have something you want to ask me Jace?”

“Do you have any plans after you graduate?”

“Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I did?”

“OK, OK, I was just asking. I thought that might’ve been what was bothering you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. You’re right. It is what’s bothering me. I’ve made my decision for what I’m going to do after college, but I know it’s only going to further damage my relationship with my mother.

“And what decision would that be?”

“I want to complete my training as a Shadowhunter.”

Jace felt a swell of relief and pride in his chest. She would be here for at least another year.

“I think that’s a wise decision.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well that and I’m not surprised, I mean who could stay away from me for very long after exposed to my alarmingly good looks and endless wit?”

“A morning with your arrogance is like a morning without sunshine,” Clary smiled, “You know, I thought you were being an uncharacteristically good conversationalist this morning, you must’ve still been sleeping.”

Michael started to squirm in her arms bit waking up again, “Breakfast?” He asked blearily.

“Sure thing, buddy.” Jace answered, picking him up from Clary as they headed down to the kitchen.

Michael pulled back to look Jace very seriously in the eye and ask, “Pancakes?”

* * *

 

 

After an unfortunately pancake-less breakfast (they were out of mix!) the Institute returned to its normal Saturday morning routine. Clary did her homework in the library and watched Michael while the other Shadowhunters trained at a higher level with each other. Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood fire-called Alicante to report and receive updates from Shadowhunters around the world.

At lunch Alec asked his parents if there were any updates from the Shadowhunter country.

“Well,” Maryse began, “this new illness has gotten worse and worse, killing almost a dozen in the past week.”

The tone of the table became somber as the Shadowhunters exchanged heavy looks.

“The population is taking a serious hit, some council members are even pushing for marriage laws to be put into place.”

“That’s ridiculous” Isabelle piped up, “They could never get away with that. Forced marriages? Way too medieval, even for the council.”

“The council has made many, far more dictatorial decisions in the past, Isabelle,” Robert lightly reminded her.

“There is another way,” Clary said, “the Mortal Cup.”

“Yes,” Maryse joined in again, “But the Cup is missing and has been for twenty-two years.”

“Yeah. . .missing.” Clary trailed off in thought and Maryse stared at her pensively.

“Well,” Alec said, trying to lighten the mood, “The council better not look towards me to be the first to enact _that_ particular law!”

Maryse turned sharply towards her son.

“People are dying Alec, now is not the time for jokes.” And with that, she untucked her napkin, stood, retired to her study, and asked not to be disturbed. She needed time to think.

 

* * *

 

Graduation was in one week. Clary was stressed. She still had three exams and had to tell her mother than she had decided to become a Shadow hunter. She sat in the library hunched over as she frantically went through her note cards one last time. She was so ready to be done with college and move on to this new chapter of her life.

It was bizarre, in a way though, to become a Shadowhunter was to cut off practically everyone from her life before except her parents and Simon. Even her college advisor had expressed doubts when she told him she was going into the “family trade” after college which she had then described as a sort of “private security company.”

She had all three of her exams back to back tomorrow. High levels of caffeine, stress, and insomnia left her on the brink of tears for the entire day taking only very small breaks to get more coffee (or hot cocoa) and food.

Subsequently, it was with enormous relief that she returned to the Institute Monday evening at 6:00 done with all of her exams completed. She opened the huge doors exhausted, but happy. Clary felt like she was walking on air, whistling down the hallways until she was nearly barreled over by Jace running towards her.

“Clary!” He gasped, “I have to tell you something—“

“Me too!” She said, “I’m done with exams forever!”

“I know,” he looked confused, “I actually thought you’d still be taking them which is why I was about to leave and come to your school and tell you something really important which is that Maryse called the Clave.”

Clary felt her ecstasy beginning to fade away as panic set in.

“And? She calls the Clave all the time Jace, that’s part of her job as director of the Institute. . . what are you trying to tell me?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, Clary, she called about your mother.”

“What? What about my mother? What would the Clave even care about my mother?”

“They want the Mortal Cup.”

“So Maryse is prepared to send my mother, and potentially me as well to jail so that they can get that damn cup?”

“You?” Jace was confused, “Why would you go to jail?”

“Because, my mother doesn’t have the Mortal Cup. I do.”

Jace had a wild look in his eyes.

“You have the cup?! Where?”

“. . . It’s here. In the Institute. I thought it would be safer here where I can keep watch on it than in Brooklyn.”

“Clary we need to get that Cup and return it right now.”

“But what if it falls into the wrong hands? You _know_ this council is corrupt.”

“Yes but your mother could also very well go away for the rest of her life if the council doesn’t get the cup back.”

“No, Jace, my mother could very well go to jail because Maryse reported her based on a suspicious that she had the Mortal Cup. Which wasn’t even true.”

“It was close to the truth.”

“It was. But my mother is no innocent and could very well go to jail for a long time for her verifiable war crimes that have nothing to do with the Mortal Instruments.”

“We need that Cup Clary. People are dying. Shadowhunters are a dying breed. We need more people.”

“And I need my mother, but apparently she’s going to be sacrificed now too.”

“There’s only one way to find out what she’s being charged with and that’s to actually go to Alicante and observe the trial.”

“And then what?”

“And then if all they are after is the Cup  then, we just need to anonymously leave the cup.”

“And what if it’s not just about the Cup?”

“Then we need to find a strong Shadowhunter, one who is strong, powerful, immune to corruption to give the Cup to.”

“And if there’s no one?”

“Then we take on the mantle ourselves.”

“Isn’t that a bit arrogant?”

“What was it you said this morning to me?” Jace tried to recall, “As yes, a day without my arrogance is a day without sunshine. Now go get packed. Looks like you’ll be seeing Alicante after all.”


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Clary did after Jace left the room was not go pack, but return to Brooklyn for the first time weeks. She had mixed feelings about Maryse’s betrayal.  She wanted to be righteously angry with her, but another part of her was almost relieved. Finally, the Clave would now about she and her mother. It may have been an inconvenient truth, but it was the truth. And keeping secrets had never been Clary’s forte. At least now everything would be in the open, the Clave would pass their judgment and they could move on from there. Maybe her mother could serve a small sentence and then all of their lives would return to normal.

When she arrived at her home, she was unsurprised to find it empty. There was a note from Luke.

_The Clave found us, if you are reading this then you are unsafe. They still might not know that you are alive Clary, you need to return to the Institute, let the Lightwoods know we have been discovered. I have to return to my pack and let them know what has happened. We love you. Luke_

Well they would definitely be surprised and probably a little mad when she showed up at her mother’s trial. Sighing, Clary went through her childhood apartment, scanning the room for anything she would need for the next couple weeks.

She realized she had truly transitioned into living at the Institute full time when her hands came up empty as she wandered through the rooms. Somehow she ended up in her mother’s room where there seemed to be a few signs of a struggle. It appeared that her mother had resisted arrest. Yet another charge to add to her file.

Clary sighed and was about to leave the apartment when she noticed an ornate box on the floor. It was unlatched, its contents missing. Clary picked the box up, closed it, and stuck it in her bag, deciding to inspect it at a later date.

She wrote her own note to Luke, telling him very briefly what she was doing and not to worry.

She pulled her stele out and carved a few runes on the door of the apartment: locking, protecting, and warding, Jace said it was useless to Mark inanimate objects most of the time, but she had managed to make her mug permanently hot with a rune. Not that he believed her; he thought she had just heated it up every time she had him touch it to see that it was still hot. Satisfied with the state she was leaving the apartment in, she headed back to the Institute.

As she walked she pulled out her phone and called Simon.

“Hello?”

“Hey Simon it’s Clary.”

“I know Clary, there’s this thing called caller ID which has been around since we were both children that actually tells me exactly who you are. What’s up?”

“Maryse reported my mother to the Clave.”

“The Shadowhunter government?” He asked. Simon had been amazing through her transition into the Shadowhunter world, but all of these terms were sometimes too much even for him to remember.

“The very one.”

He let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry Clary.”

“It’s ok Si. It might be for the best, at least after she gets her sentence there will be nothing hanging over our heads.”

“I guess so. So what’re you going to do about it?”

Clary laughed, “What makes you think we’re going to do anything?”

“Because I know.”

“Jace and I are going to Alicante, the capital of the Shadowhunter country. Just to watch the trial, to keep an eye on her and her rights to fair trial.”

“Backpacking in Europe after college how cliché.”

Graduation. She had completely forgotten. It was next week. Well she didn’t need to sit in a tent for hours to get her diploma. Especially not if her mother or Luke would be there.

“It’s not exactly a vacation, Simon”

“I know Clary, just trying to ease the tension.”

“Well I better go, be safe Simon, don’t get too crazy with the graduation parties.”

“Oh I’ll try, but you know me, party animal that I am. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help myself” he drawled.

“Very funny. I’ll see you next week Si, love you.”

“Love you too Clare Bear.”

Rolling her eyes at the ridiculous nickname she hung up and headed home.  

* * *

 

 

“Calm your mind, Clary, focus on Alicante. Descriptions you’ve read of it. Focus on the people you already know are there: your mother, Max, my father, focus on your desire to see them and the city.”

Isabelle had been training her to use the portal for months, but this trip was still sooner than anticipated.

“I know Iz, just let me go.”

They had been standing there for almost an hour, Isabelle unconvinced that her trainee was ready to go through.

“You’re still going through with me, just in case.”

“I know!” Clary took a deep breath and held up her hands, “I know, Iz, I promise I’m calm, but I won’t be if you try to make me keep meditating for another minute.”

“She’s ready.” Maryse quietly offered from the corner. “I will be here in case anything goes wrong, you’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll follow you through.” Jace was sitting on one of the bookcases, watching the scene unfold before him. It was rare that adults got lost in portals, but not unheard of and this would be Clary’s first time travelling through one. It was risky and it was more than slightly nervous to be honest. She was emotional, or should be, based on the situation and that was what lead to the most mistakes when portalling.

“Alright, let’s go,” Isabelle offered her hand to Clary who took it. The two stepped through the portal and Jace felt his heart rate pick up.

Nothing happened.

“Looks like they got through fine.” Maryse decided.

“Only one way to find out.” Jace took a step forwards preparing to enter the portal as well.

“Jace wait,” he turned around to look at Maryse, “Be careful, the Fairchilds may seem charismatic, but they are _dangerous_. Clary’s father was a terrible man who may or may not still be alive and I would hate for you to get caught up in their troubles.”

Jace stiffened, unwilling to confront Maryse will he was still unsure of Isabelle and Clary’s safe arrival in Alicante. Instead, he turned heel, and stepped into the portal himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Alicante was beautiful Clary decided, the moment she stumbled out of the portal. The moniker ‘City of Glass’ finally made sense. She had thought her own city had been a city of concrete and glass, but this place looked like it was carved from the clearest ice.

Despite the circumstances, Clary was happy to be there. It was, truly, beautiful.

She brushed herself off and waited for Jace to step through the portal as well, smiling at him when he did.

Mr. Lightwood and Alec had been there to greet them and wait for Jace and Maryse to come safely through the portal. Once they had all safely arrived, Mr. Lightwood turned towards Clary and Jace and spoke, “It’s late we should all get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day for you and your mother. Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the Penhallows with us?”

“No, thank you sir.” Jace answered for them.

“Very well. You remember the way?” Mr. Lightwood asked.

“I do.”

“Good. Don’t be afraid to fire call if there’s anything you need.”

“We will.”

“Right. Good night then.”

There was a chorus of “Good nights” and “sleep wells” as the two groups departed, with the Lightwoods walking one way and Jace and Clary the other.

Clary, though she semi-understood why Marye had turned her mother in, still felt stung by the betrayal and hadn’t wanted to stay in close quarters with the Lightwoods during her mother’s trial. She had confided as much in Jace, hoping she could find an inn or something. Generously, he had offered for them to stay in Wayland Manor which, he supposed, he was now the master of.

Clary didn’t pry but she was relatively certain this was the first time he had returned to the manor since seeing his father die there years ago.

They walked down the street and Clary looked everywhich way, taking in as many sights of this new foreign city as she could.

“It’s too far to walk.”

“Sorry?”

“Wayland Manor. It’s too far, we’ll have to ride.”

“Ride, what?”

“Horses .  . .” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to ride horses.”

“Why would I? I grew up in New York City. I don’t even have a driver’s license. If I can’t drive a car what makes you think I could ride a horse?”

“Fair enough. I guess I just didn’t think that Jocelyn would allow her daughter to grow up without riding horses. It’s like a Shadowhunter rite of passage.”

“Seems like there a lot of things my mother kept from me. This one seems relatively harmless.”

“True enough. You’ll have to ride with me today. I’ll teach you eventually though. It’s a life skill you’ll need if you ever spend any extended time in Idris.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled softly as the pair arrived at a barn on the outskirts of the city. Jace walked past the stalls before selecting a huge, grey dappled horse. He gave a piece of gold to the stable hand before saddling up and gesturing for Clary to get on.

She hesitated.

“Oh come on, it’s not that scary. Just like this.”

Gracefully, he mounted the horse, swinging his leg over in one swift movement.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he pushed his hair out of his face as he dismounted.

“That!” she gestured towards his general direction, “make everything look so damned graceful all the time. I swear you were a ballerina in a former life.”

“I’ll have you know that I am an excellent dancer in all my lives. Now stop procrastinating and get on the damn horse.”

She pouted at him. He put his hands on her shoulder and guided her to the horse.

“OK, I’ll walk you through this. Right foot in the stirrup. Straighten your knee and throw your left leg over on three. Ready?”

She nodded

“OK” he counted, “One . . . two . . . three!”

She awkwardly slung her leg over, not quite making it until Jace gave her a slight boost from behind. She blushed as he hopped on in front of her and got the horse to trot out of the city. She sat uncomfortably behind him unsure what to do with her hands.

“Oh for the Angel’s sake.” She heard him grumble as he reached behind himself, grabbed her hands and fastened them around his waist, “Don’t worry I know you’re not trying to cop a feel” he offered, “Just do me a favor and hold on so I don’t have to explain to your mother how you died in a freak horse riding accident.”

Clary’s blush darkened, but she followed his instructions hugging herself flush against his back. After several minutes, she was finally able to relax and found herself enjoying the sensation of horse riding, the wind on her face and in her hair as the rode through the woods and open fields.

Clary had never been to Europe before, but now she never wanted to leave. Suddenly, she began giggling behind Jace.

“What is so funny?” He asked.

“Oh nothing, I’ve just realized how cliché we are. I’m like the girl from the wrong side of the tracks: Brooklyn raised, got shot on the street, we’re visiting my mom in jail tomorrow, and my father is a known criminal.” She laughed again, “You, on the other hand, are from the Upper East Side, take me to Europe for the first time, teach me to ride horses, and are taking me to your family manor.”

“OK first of all, Park Slope is a very nice neighborhood and secondly I highly doubt that there is anyone in this world _or_ the next who would claim that you were the bad influence here. On the cliché superficial level, which one of us has more tattoos? Count them and weep. And to be fair none of your ‘street cred’ experiences as you like to call them happened before you met me.”

“Oh come on just admit it I’m the Julia Roberts to your Richard Gere.”

“No, I won’t admit it. I don’t even know what that reference means.”

“It’s from Pretty Woman.”

“Well who’s teaching who now?”

“It’s a movie about a prosititute.”

“And which of us does that make the prostititute?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“I’m not sure whether to be complimented or insulted, but I _am_ going to assume that I’m the prostitute.”

“What?!”

“Well it certainly wouldn’t be you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because Isabelle would kill any man who looked at her protégée the wrong way. Let alone touched her.” And so would I, he added silently, surprising himself with the violent thought.

They rode in silence after that somewhat bizarre conversation about who could or could not be the Julia Roberts in their relationship. As she thought  more about the movie, she decided to hide her copy in the Institute and thanked God that there was no internet at the Institute or in Alicante for him to look up the popular movie.

They had been in thick woods for what felt practically an hour when Jace spoke up, “This is protective land around Wayland manor we should be nearing it soon.”

Shortly after he finished speaking, they pulled into a clearing and the horse trotted onto a very long gravel driveway.

The manor was huge, as manors often are, and looked only slightly foreboding. It looked French to Clary, which made sense considering the geographical location of Idris. It was made of smooth grey stone and bookended by two towers on either end.

The entryway was long, giving visitors ample time to take in their surroundings and the grandiosity of the mansion.

After so many years of neglect, bramble had grown in around the manor, and Jace had to steer the horse around it, eventually getting off and leading the horse by hand so that he and Clary could hack away the bramble with their seraphs.

Unbidden an image of the castle from Sleeping Beauty popped into her mind, the castle that had fallen asleep for a hundred years, overcome with wild plants, practically impenetrable until Prince Phillip arrived.

She smiled to herself and looked up, watching Jace hack through the bramble and the implicit comparison she had just made between the prince and Jace. As he worked, he threw his head back to get his long blonde hair out of his face.

He might not be a Disney prince in many regards, but he definitely had the hair-flip.

Clary shook her head to clear it. She needed to stop thinking of Jace in terms of romance movies and as her savior. He was a good friend. She admired him, but he didn’t feel the same way about her. She doubted he would keep quiet if he did. To admit any feelings for him beyond admiration would only make things muddled and awkward. It would be taking advantage of his generosity, she decided.

No, she would admire him from afar. Be there to protect him when she could and be grateful for his presence in her life.

Finally, after what seemed like ages of hacking away at the bramble they reached the front door.

It was large and wooden with curling wrought iron making complex patterns. But then Clary realized there was no door handle. Or key hole.

“Um, Jace?”

“Yes Clary?”

“How exactly are we meant to get in here.”

“With blood. How else?”

She flinched as he drew a dagger across his palm and held it on the door.

“My father was extremely paranoid. Not that it did him any good in the end. As far as I know this house will only accept my blood now. Unless I have some distant relative I’m unaware of.”

She nodded and they stepped into the house.

If the house’s exterior had seemed in desperate need of some TLC, it was nothing compared to the interior. Cobwebs, thick and opaque stretched across the corners. All surfaces were covered in a thick layer of dust. Furniture had begun to rot and collapse.

Silently, Jace moved further into the house. She walked past the grand staircase, her hand reaching out to touch the soft time-worn and well-loved wooden bannister. She could vividly imagine this ancestral home as it was meant to be when it was built, with dozens of little angel-headed Waylands running around laughing and playing. The Grand Staircase, she thought, had several perfect hiding places for hide-and-go-seek.

She thought of Michael, spending the weekend alone in the Institute with Hodge and was surprised by how much she missed him. He had been very disappointed that he was not allowed to come to Idris. Clary could not wait for this trial to be over and to return to her real life in New York.

She followed Jace, making sure to make enough noise so that he knew she was behind him. He was only two rooms away, staring at a point on the floor.

She wondered if that was where his father had died.

She decided not to ask.

“Come on,” he turned around, “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

They walked together up the stairs carrying their supplies and luggage with them. You can stay here, he gestured to a door at the top of the staircase. It opened to reveal an apartment of several dark green rooms. It reminded her of the period rooms in the Met which had dressing rooms, receiving rooms, powder rooms, all for one person it was nothing short of incredible.

Once Clary had put down all of her things, Jace turned around again and went to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going?” She asked as they both stepped into the hallway. She didn’t know why but this house gave her the creeps. Oh wait, actually, she knew exactly why the manor, grand as it was, literally looked like the set of a horror movie.

“. . . To my own rooms?” He seemed confused by her confusion.

“Well where are those?”

“Upstairs . . .”

“Can’t you stay here with me?”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. Robinson?”

“. . .How have you seen The Graduate, but not Pretty Woman, you pop culture swine?

“. . .”

“ . . .”

“Come on Jace this place is making me nervous, I feel like a skeleton is going to pop out of the closet and strangle me. At least stay on the same floor so you’ll hear my screams as I die a slow painful death?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Magnus.”

“Please?”

“Fine. I’ll stay next door to you. Just come knock if anything’s wrong.”

“OK! Also where’s the kitchen?”

“And they say I’m the one always thinking about food. Let me drop my things off next door and I’ll show you.”

Together they walked into Jace’s next door accommodations which seemed to be a mirror reflection of Clary’s own apartment, only decorated with deep reds instead of green.

She brought their “provisions” bag and began making them both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches once they reached the kitchen.

Jace groaned as he bit into his sandwich, “No wonder Michael loves you so much, these are amazing.”

Clary raised an eyebrow, “It’s PB&J I highly doubt it’s anything groundbreaking as she ate her own sandwich.”

“Mmmm you know if Shadowhunting doesn’t work out you could also open your own little café.”

“Yes a store that specializes in pancakes and PB&J’s.”

“And hot cocoa!”

“And hot cocoa she conceded. It could be Clary’s Café.”

“Clary’s Comforts.” Jace proposed. When she shot him an odd look he explained, “You know because it’s comfort food!”

“See that’s what you’re saying, but somehow I feel like we’ve gotten back to the prostitute argument. Somehow I think a name like ‘Clary’s Comforts’ could be a bit misleading.”

Jace choked slightly on the last bite of his sandwich before declaring, “We should get some sleep. We’ll need to ride out early tomorrow if you want to see your mother before her questioning.”

Clary nodded.

The pair walked up the stairs and back to their rooms. Once they reached her door, Clary opened her mouth to speak.

“Thanks again, Jace, for letting me stay here with you. I know it must be difficult to be back here.”

He looked slightly taken aback and so she simply said, “Good night” for him and closed her door.

They could deal with traumatic childhoods in the morning.

 

* * *

Clary had a very difficult time sleeping at Wayland Manor. It felt wrong. And not just in a ‘there’s probably spider eggs on the bottom of my mattress’ kind of way. Deciding that tossing and turning was useless, she sat up and pulled her shoes on. Digging her stele out of her bag (just in case) she left her room and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The house creaked and cracked with every step and she was surprised Jace didn’t come yell at her for waking him up.

She would be happy to deal with a cranky Jace deprived of his beauty sleep if it meant someone could at least keep her company in this horror-movie set house. Halfway down the stairs, an unreasonably strong feeling of fear overcame her senses and Clary, used to Isabelle’s many, many warnings to listen to her intuition ran back up the stairs and into Jace’s rooms.

Seeing him lying on his bed, shirtless, hair sticking in all directions instantly made Clary feel better. If Jace thought it was safe here, then he was right.

Slowly she walked over and watched him breathe slowly in and out, watched as his chest slowly rose and fell with each breath. He looked so innocent while sleeping. So worry-free, vulnerable, _beautiful_. He never seemed like someone who could submit to the unconsciousness demanded of us by sleep. Always seemed so self-possessed. Even now it seemed like a trick. She half (or wholly) expected him to open his eyes at any moment and say something entirely ridiculous.

But he didn’t. So she stood watch over him, taking comfort in it, until her eyelids began to droop. She didn’t want to leave him. But she also didn’t want to sleep on the floor. But she also didn’t want to crawl into bed with him either. Although it was tempting and the bed was probably big enough that it wouldn’t wake him.

No, that would send all the wrong sorts of messages and it would be wrong to betray his trust like that. Instead she felt around the wall, looking for a door handle to the left of the bed. She had found a small nursery in her own apartments with a twin sized bed, presumably meant for the nurse. She left the door open so that she could still see the top of Jace’s head in the moonlit room. She shook out the light blanket atop the bed, ridding it of superficial dust. She took off her shoes and climbed in. Sleep came more easily to her this time, comforted by his presence.

That night, Clary dreamt of dark cells and blood-curdling screams.

 

* * *

 

That morning, they rode back through the forest and into the city of Alicante. Jace thought that he enjoyed riding on the same horse with Clary a little too much and wondered if her first riding lesson could be after her visit with her mother. Yes, he would definitely be renting two horses tonight he decided as Clary tightened her grip around his waist and pressed her cheek against the back of his shoulder.

He had been. . . surprised to find her in his rooms this morning. To be completely honest, he thought he had still been dreaming. After  some obligatory teasing about how she couldn’t _bear_ to be parted from him for even a moment and had broken into his rooms, they had decided to ride into the city and skip breakfast.

To be honest, he reveled in the idea that his presence made her feel safe. Clary was like the Angel herself, a picture of purity, kindness, compassion, all he wanted was to protect her. Anything else would be an insult to her honor. Anything else, especially now, would be taking advantage of a girl who no doubt felt she owed him a debt as long as she stayed in his ancestral home.

Besides, there was no way she returned his feelings. She was affectionate and caring with everyone. Probably hugged Alec more than him to be honest. And no matter how she spun it, she still couldn’t get past the fairy-book tale of her and Simon. Best friends since childhood, Simon understood her in ways Jace never could. But then again, Jace understood the Shadowhunter parts of Clary far better than his rival could.

Jace would, eventually, show Clary that he was the better man for her. But today was not that day, today her mother faced trial by the clave and he needed to support her in that.

* * *

 

Clary had to wait outside the courts as she waited for the guards to ready her mother for prisoners. She wondered what exactly that meant. Would they add or take away chains? Allow her to hug her daughter or confine her in a cage that barely allowed her to see them?

She didn’t know. But she did know that she was stuck in this waiting room and had been for almost twenty minutes. At the center of the room, surrounded by a glass case, was a ceremonial looking broadsword suspended in the air by magic.

“The Soul Sword.” Jace explained, “It forces its holder to tell the truth. It used to be kept in the Silent City until a few years ago when its use became standard in court trials. A necessity when corruption and bribery climb to all-time highs.”

Clary’s palms itched to draw and she pulled out her notebook, scrawling in a new rune.

“What is that?” Jace asked looking over her shoulder, “I’ve never seen a rune like that before.”

“Oh I don’t know,” she answered, “Sometimes I get these feelings like I _have_ to draw one, like its clawing its way out of me.”

“Well that’s not a disturbing image at all. But seriously, I have never seen that rune, it’s not from the Grey Book.” He turned the page revealing two more unknown runes.

“What’re these from?” He asked.

“Oh, that one” she pointed, “Came to me after Maryse described this new sickness that’s been plaguing Shadowhunters around the world and this one came to me after that discussion I had with Max about dementors and fear.”

Jace nodded, remembering that Clary had been giving Max Harry Potter books to read for fun.

“Have you tried any of your new runes out?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And they work.”

“What do you mean they work?”

“What do you think I mean? I mean that I can draw them on myself and they work.”

“Are you telling me that you can create runs?”

“I suppose so, is it really _that_ unusual an ability?”

“Clary it is unheard of.”

Clary’s mouth opened to form a slight “O.”

“Which have you tried on yourself?”

“I made one for cardiovascular fitness.”

“And it worked?”

“Yes! It worked! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“God, no wonder Isabelle was so surprised by how quickly you got in shape.”

“And what’s the Soul Sword rune that you just drew?”

“It’s hard to translate directly into English sometimes. But it means something like ‘Soul Reader.’”

“Draw it on me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” He nodded, “Please Clary. I trust you.”

“OK.” So she pushed back his sleeve and drew it on his inner wrist, wondering vaguely if there was a ban on unauthorized runes and if she was breaking the law while waiting to visit her mother in prison. But before she could think too much on it, she was already done.

He gasped and she looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . I just feel different.”

“Maybe you can only tell the truth now. Try lying to me.”

“My name is Josh.”

“Well there goes my theory.”

“I think, maybe, that other people can’t lie to me now. Clary, try telling me a lie.”

“My name is Bob.”

“ . . .Well I definitely felt something. Like a warning bell.”

He grasped her hand.

“Try lying to me now,” he said, “What’s your name?”

Clary tried to resist the urge to tell the truth and felt a sharp pain in her head, jerking her hand out of his grasp she gasped, “It works, it works.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, and whispered, “No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve created a monster,” she tried to joke. But before he could respond, the guard from earlier that morning had enetered the room and walked up to Clary.

“They’re ready for you.” The guard announced.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Jace asked.

“Yes, please,” she said, accepting his arm when he offered it to her as they traversed the narrow and steep set of stairs leading down into the cells.

At the base of the steps, they both had to surrender their seraph blades and steles. Neither realized that the other had a few daggers stashed away in their belts and boots. Shadowhunters, Clary realized, could really benefit from investing in metal detectors.

Clary took a deep breath and set her shoulders, walking to her mother’s cell. Another set of guards stood in her way before she could reach the cell door.

“I’m afraid,” one of the guards began, “that there’s been a slight complication with your mother’s case.”

“Please, just let me see her.”

“Very well.” The two guards stepped away from each other allowing her to pass.

There lay her mother, on the ground, unconscious.

“Mom? Mom! Jocelyn!” Clary raised her voice and rattled the bars, getting more and more disconcerted as her mother did not stir.

“She won’t wake up.” The same guard as before spoke.”

Clary whirled around to face him, “What the Hell have you done to my mother?” She demanded to know.

The shorter guard, quiet before spoke up, “We didn’t do nothing to mommy dearest, she did this to herself. Swallowed some poison as soon as she realized we were going to use the Soul Sword on her. Guess she couldn’t bear to betray dear Valentine even after all these years. Damn coward would rather kill herself than give away his precious secrets at the command of the Sword. Too bad she failed, looks like we’ve got our very own Sleeping Beauty here in Idris.”

Clary growled and went to throw herself at the guard when Jace wrapped his arms around her from behind preventing her from attacking the guard.

“Let’s go, Clary, you can’t help her if you’re in a cell of your own for attacking one of the guards.”

“You won’t get away with this,” she spat at the guards, “My mother would _never_ try to take her own life.” She turned to Jace, “My mother is many things, but a coward is not one of them.”

“I know,” he comforted, “I know” he guided her out of the city willing her to stay calm at least until they reached the woods. Riding lessons, it seemed, would have to wait for another day.

* * *

 

 A/N Finally broke the 40K barrier! Woo hoo! Please continue to read and review! Big thanks to everyone who continues to read this story, it makes my day J

Also wanted to let everyone know that from now on there will be spoilers for the first four books in future chapters.

xx


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